THE 
DRUMS  OF  JEOPARDY 


.  a,  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LO! 


'See  that  taxi  going  across  town?     Follow  it  and  I 
will  give  you  ten  extra  fare'  " 


THE  DRUMS 
OF  JEOPARDY 


BY 

HAROLD  MACGRATH 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

RALPH  FALLEN  COLEMAN 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 
PUBLISHERS 


Made  in  the  Uruted  States  of  America 


COPYRIGHT,    1980,     BY 
DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE   &  COMPANY 

ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED,    INCLUDING    THAT    OF    TRANSLATION" 
INTO  FOREIGN   LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 

COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BY  THE  CURTIS  PCBLISHING  COMPANY 

PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES 

AT 
THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


THE 
DRUMS  OF  JEOPARDY 


2131641 


The  Drums  Of  Jeopardy 

CHAPTER  I 

A  FAST  train  drew  into  Albany,  on  the  New 
York  Central,  from  the  West.  It  was  three- 
thirty  of  a  chill  March  morning  in  the  first 
year  of  peace.  A  pall  of  fog  lay  over  the  world  so 
heavy  that  it  beaded  the  face  and  hands  and  de- 
posited a  fairy  diamond  dust  upon  wool.  The  sta- 
tion lights  had  the  visibility  of  stars,  and  like  the 
stars  were  without  refulgence — a  pale  golden  aureola, 
perhaps  three  feet  in  diameter,  and  beyond,  nothing. 
The  few  passengers  who  alighted  and  the  train  itself 
had  the  same  nebulosity  of  drab  fish  in  a  dim  aquar- 
ium. 

Among  the  passengers  to  detrain  was  a  man  in  a 
long  black  coat.  The  high  collar  was  up.  The  man 
wore  a  derby  hat,  well  down  upon  his  head,  after  the 
English  mode.  An  English  kitbag,  battered  and 
scarred,  swung  heavily  from  his  hand.  He  immedi- 
ately strode  for  the  station  wall  and  stood  with  his 
back  to  it.  He  was  almost  invisible.  He  remained 
motionless  until  the  other  detrained  passengers 
swam  past,  until  the  red  tail  lights  of  the  last  coach 

s 


4  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

vanished  into  the  deeps;  then  he  rushed  for  the  exit 
to  the  street. 

Away  toward  the  far  end  of  the  platform  there 
appeared  a  shadowy  patch  in  the  fog.  It  grew  and 
presently  took  upon  itself  the  shape  of  a  man.  For 
one  so  short  and  squat  and  thick  his  legs  possessed 
remarkable  agility,  for  he  reached  the  street  just  as 
the  other  man  stopped  at  the  side  of  a  taxicab. 

The  fool!  As  if  such  a  movement  had  not  been 
anticipated.  Sixteen  thousand  miles,  always  east- 
ward, on  horses,  camels,  donkeys,  trains,  and  ships; 
down  China  to  the  sea,  over  that  to  San  Francisco, 
thence  across  this  bewildering  stretch  of  cities  and 
plains  called  the  United  States,  always  and  ever 
toward  New  York — and  the  fool  thought  he  could 
escape!  Thought  he  was  flying,  when  in  truth  he 
was  being  driven  toward  a  wall  in  which  there  would 
be  no  breach!  Behind  and  in  front  the  net  was 
closing.  Up  to  this  hour  he  had  been  extremely 
clever  in  avoiding  contact.  This  was  his  first  stupid 
act — thought  the  fog  would  serve  as  an  impenetrable 
cloak. 

Meantime,  the  other  man  reached  into  the  taxicab 
and  awoke  the  sleeping  chauffeur. 

"A  hotel,"  he  said. 

"Which  one?" 

"Any  one  will  do." 

"Yes,  sir.     Two  dollars." 

"When  we  arrive.    No;  I'll  take  the  bag  inside 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  5" 

with  me."  Inside  the  cab  the  fare  chuckled.  For 
those  who  fished  there  would  be  no  fish  in  the  net. 
This  fog — like  a  kindly  hand  reaching  down  from 
heaven ! 

Five  minutes  later  the  taxicab  drew  up  in  front  of  a 
hotel.  The  unknown  stepped  out,  took  a  leather 
purse,  from  his  pocket  and  carefully  counted  out  in 
silver  two  dollars  and  twenty  cents,  which  he  poured 
into  the  chauffeur's  palm. 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"You  are  an  American?" 

"Sure!     I  was  born  in  this  burg." 

"Like  the  idea?" 

"Huh?" 

"The  idea  of  being  an  American?" 

"I  should  say  yes!  This  is  one  grand  little  gob 
o'  mud,  believe  me!  It's  going  to  be  dry  in  a  little 
while,  and  then  it  will  be  some  grand  little  old  brick. 
Say,  let  me  give  you  a  tip!  The  gas  in  this  joint  is 
extra  if  you  blow  it  out!" 

Grinning,  the  chauffeur  threw  on  the  power  and 
wheeled  away  into  the  fog. 

His  late  fare  followed  the  vehicle  with  his  gaze 
until  it  reached  the  vanishing  point,  then  he  laughed. 
An  American  cockney!  He  turned  and  entered  the 
hotel.  He  marched  resolutely  up  to  the  desk  and 
roused  the  sleeping  clerk,  who  swung  round  the 
register.  The  unknown  without  hesitance  inscribed 
his  name,  which  was  John  Hawksley,  But  he  hesi- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 


Yes,  sir.    Here,  boy! 


the  wiser! 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  7 

the  pinched  forehead  of  the  fanatic.  Not  wholly 
unpleasant,  not  particularly  agreeable;  the  sort  of 
individual  one  preferred  to  walk  round  rather  than 
bump  into.  The  clerk  offered  the  register,  and  the 
squat  man  scratched  his  name  impatiently,  grabbed 
the  extended  key,  and  trotted  to  the  elevator. 

"Ah,"  mused  the  clerk,  "we  have  with  us  Mr. 

Poppy — Popo "  He  stared  at  the  signature 

close  up.  "Hanged  if  I  can  make  it  out!  It  looks 
like  some  new  brand  of  soft  drink  we'll  be  having 
after  July  first.  Greek  or  Bulgarian.  Anyhow,  he 
didn't  awsk  for  a  bawth.  Looks  as  if  he  needed  one, 
too.  Here,  boy!" 

"Ye-ah!" 

"Take  a  peek  at  this  John  Hancock." 

"Gee!  That  must  be  the  guy  who  makes  that 
drugstore  drink — Boolzac." 

The  clerk  swung  out,  but  missed  the  boy's  head 
by  a  hair.  The  boy  stood  off,  grinning. 

"Well,youastme!" 

"All  right.  If  anybody  else  comes  in  tell  'em 
we're  full  up.  I'll  be  a  wreck  to-morrow  without 
my  usual  beauty  sleep."  The  clerk  dropped  into 
his  chair  again  and  elevated  his  feet  to  the  radiator. 

"Want  me  t'  git  a  pillow  for  yuh?" 

"No  back  talk!" — drowsily. 

"Oh!  boy,  but  I  got  one  on  you! " 

"What?" 

"This  Boolzac  guy  didn't  have  no  baggage,  an* 


8  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

yuh  give  'im  the  key  without  little  ol'  three-per  in 
advance." 

"No  grip?" 

"Nix.    Not  a  toot'brush  in  sight." 

"Well,  the  damage  is  done.  I  might  as  well  go 
to  sleep." 

It  was  not  premeditated  on  the  part  of  the  clerk 
to  give  the  squat  man  the  room  adjoining  that  of 
Hawksley's.  The  key  had  been  nearest  his  hand. 
But  the  squat  man  trembled  with  excitement  when 
he  noted  that  it  was  stamped  214.  He  had  taken 
particular  pains  to  search  the  register  for  Hawksley's 
number  before  rousing  the  clerk.  He  hadn't  counted 
on  any  such  luck  as  this.  His  idea  had  been  merely 
to  watch  the  door  of  Room  212. 

He  had  the  feline  foot,  as  they  say.  He  moved 
about  lightly  and  without  sound  in  the  dark.  Al- 
most at  once  he  approached  one  of  the  two  doors 
and  put  his  ear  to  the  panel.  Running  water.  The 
fool  had  time  to  take  a  bath ! 

A  plan  flashed  into  his  head.  Why  not  end  the 
affair  here  and  now,  and  reap  the  glory  for  himself? 
What  mattered  the  net  if  the  fish  swam  into  your 
hand?  Wasn't  this  particularly  his  affair?  It  was 
the  end,  not  the  means.  A  close  touch  in  Hong- 
Kong,  but  the  fool  had  slipped  away.  But  there,  hi 
the  next  room,  assured  that  he  had  escaped — it 
would  be  easy.  The  squat  man  tiptoed  to  the  win- 
dow. Luck  of  luck,  there  was  a  fire-escape  plat- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  9 

form!  He  would  let  half  an  hour  pass,  then  he  would 
act.  The  ape,  with  his  British  mannerisms !  Death 
to  the  breed,  root  and  branch!  He  sat  down  to 
wait. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  wall  the  bather  finished 
his  ablutions.  His  body  was  graceful,  vigorous,  and 
youthful,  tinted  a  golden  bronze.  His  nose  was 
hawky;  his  eyes  a  Latin  brown,  alert  and  roving, 
though  there  was  a  hint  of  weariness  in  them,  the 
pressure  of  long,  racking  hours  of  ceaseless  vigilance. 
His  top  hair  was  a  glossy  black  inclined  to  curl; 
but  the  four  days'  growth  of  beard  was  as  blond  as  a 
ripe  chestnut  burr.  In  spite  of  this  mark  of  vaga- 
bondage there  were  elements  of  beauty  in  the  face. 
The  expanse  of  the  brow  and  the  shape  of  the  head 
were  intellectual.  The  mouth  was  pleasure-loving, 
but  the  nose  and  the  jaw  neutralized  this. 

After  he  had  towelled  himself  he  reached  down  for 
a  brown  leather  pouch  which  lay  on  the  three-legged 
bathroom  stool.  It  was  patently  a  tobacco  pouch, 
but  there  was  evidently  something  inside  more 
precious  than  Saloniki.  He  held  the  pouch  on  his 
palm  and  stared  at  it  as  if  it  contained  some  jinn 
clamouring  to  be  let  out.  Presently  he  broke  away 
from  this  fascination  and  rocked  his  body,  eyes 
closed — like  a  man  suffering  unremitting  pain. 

"God's  curse  on  them!"  he  whispered,  opening  his 
eyes.  He  raised  the  pouch  swiftly,  as  though  he 
intended  dashing  it  to  the  tiled  floor;  but  his  arm  sank 


10  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

gently.     After  all,  he  would  be  a  fool  to  destroy 
them.     They  were  future  bread  and  butter. 

He  would  soon  have  their  equivalent  in  money — 
money  that  would  bring  back  no  terrible  recollec- 
tions. 

Strange  that  every  so  often,  despite  the  horror, 
he  had  to  take  them  out  and  gaze  at  them.  He 
sat  down  upon  the  stool,  spread  a  towel  across  his 
knees,  and  opened  the  pouch.  He  drew  out  a  roll 
of  cotton  wool,  which  he  unrolled  across  the  towel. 
Flames!  Blue  names,  red,  yellow,  violet,  and  green 
—precious  stones,  many  of  them  with  histories  that 
reached  back  into  the  dim  centuries,  histories  of 
murder  and  loot  and  envy.  The  young  man  had 
imagination — perhaps  too  much  of  it.  He  saw  the 
stones  palpitating  upon  lovely  white  and  brown 
bosoms;  he  saw  bloody  and  greedy  hands,  the  red 
sack  of  towns;  he  heard  the  screams  of  women  and 
the  raucous  laughter  of  drunken  men.  Murder  and 
loot. 

At  the  end  of  the  cotton  wool  lay  two  emeralds 
about  the  size  of  half  dollars  and  half  an  inch  in 
thickness,  polished,  and  as  vividly  green  as  a  dragon- 
fly in  the  sun,  fit  for  the  turban  of  Schariar,  spouse  of 
Scheherazade. 

Rodin  would  have  seized  upon  the  young  man's 
attitude — the  limp  body,  the  haggard  face — hewn 
it  out  of  marble  and  called  it  Conscience.  The 
possessor  of  the  stones  held  this  attitude  for  three  or 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  11 

four  minutes  Then  he  rolled  up  the  cotton  wool, 
jammed  it  into  the  pouch,  which  he  hung  to  his  neck 
by  a  thong,  and  sprang  to  his  feet.  No  more  of  this 
brooding;  it  was  sapping  his  vitality;  and  he  was  not 
yet  at  his  journey's  end. 

He  proceeded  to  the  bedroom,  emptied  the  bat- 
tered-kitbag,  and  began  to  dress.  He  put  on  heavy 
tan  walking  shoes,  gray  woollen  stockings,  gray 
knickerbockers,  gray  flannel  shirt,  and  a  Norfolk 
jacket  minus  the  third  button. 

Ah,  that  button!  He  fingered  the  loose  threads 
which  had  aforetime  snugged  the  button  to  the  wool. 
The  carelessness  of  a  tailor  had  saved  his  life.  Had 
that  button  held,  his  bones  at  this  moment  would  be 
reposing  on  the  hillside  in  far-away  Hong-Kong. 
Evidently  Fate  had  some  definite  plans  regarding 
his  future,  else  he  would  not  be  in  this  room,  alive. 
But  what  plans?  Why  should  Fate  bother  about  him 
further?  She  had  strained  the  orange  to  the  last 
drop.  Why  protect  the  pulp?  Perhaps  she  was 
only  making  sport  of  him,  lulling  him  into  the  belief 
that  eventually  he  might  win  through.  One  thing, 
she  would  never  be  able  to  twist  his  heart  again. 
You  cannot  fill  a  cup  with  water  beyond  the  brim. 
And  God  knew  that  his  cup  had  been  full  and  bitter 
and  red. 

His  hand  swept  across  his  eyes  as  if  to  brush  away 
the  pictures  suddenly  conjured  up.  He  must  keep 
his  thoughts  off  those  things.  There  was  a  taint  of 


12  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

madness  in  his  blood,  and  several  times  he  had  sensed 
the  brink  at  his  feet.  But  God  had  been  kind  to  him 
in  one  respect:  The  blood  of  his  glorious  mother  pre- 
dominated. 

How  many  were  after  him,  and  who?  He  had 
not  been  able  to  recognize  the  man  that  night  in 
Hong-Kong.  That  was  the  fate  of  the  pursued:  one 
never  dared  pause  to  look  back,  while  the  pursuers 
had  their  man  before  them  always.  If  only  he 
could  have  broken  through  into  Greece,  England 
would  have  been  easy.  The  only  door  open  had 
been  in  the  East.  It  seemed  incredible  that  he 
should  be  standing  in  this  room,  but  three  hours 
from  his  goal. 

America!  The  land  of  the  free  and  the  brave! 
And  the  irony  of  it  was  that  he  must  seek  in  America 
the  only  friends  he  had  in  the  world.  All  the  Eng- 
lishmen he  had  known  and  loved  were  dead.  He  had 
never  made  friends  with  the  French,  though  he  loved 
France.  In  this  country  alone  he  might  successfully 
lose  himself  and  begin  life  anew.  The  British  were 
British  and  the  French  were  French;  but  in  this 
magnificent  America  they  possessed  the  tenacity  of 
the  one  and  the  gayety  of  the  other — these  joyous, 
unconquered,  speed-loving  Americans. 

He  took  up  the  overcoat.  Under  the  light  it  was 
no  longer  black  but  a  very  deep  green.  On  both 
sleeves  there  were  narrow  bands  of  a  still  deeper 
green,  indicating  that  gold  or  silver  braid  had  once 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  13 

X 

befrogged  the  cuffs.  Inside,  soft  silky  Persian  lamb; 
and  he  ran  his  fingers  over  the  fur  thoughtfully. 
The  coat  was  still  impregnated  with  the  strong  odour 
of  horse.  He  cast  it  aside,  never  to  touch  it  again. 

From  the  discarded  small  coat  he  extracted  a  black 
wallet  and  opened  it.  That  passport!  He  wondered 
if  there  existed  another  more  cleverly  forged.  It 
would  not  have  served  an  hour  west  of  the  Hinden- 
burg  Line;  but  hi  the  East  and  here  in  America  no 
one  had  questioned  it.  In  San  Francisco  they  had 
scarcely  glanced  at  it,  peace  having  come. 

Besides  this  passport  the  wallet  contained  a  will, 
ten  bonds,  a  custom  appraiser's  receipt  and  a  sheaf 
of  gold  bills.  The  will,  however,  was  perhaps  one  of 
the  most  astonishing  documents  conceivable.  It 
left  inreservedly  to  Capt.  John  Hawksley  the  con- 
tents of  the  wallet ! 

Within  three  hours  of  his  ultimate  destination! 
He  knew  all  about  great  cities.  An  hour  after  he  left 
the  tram,  if  he  so  willed,  he  could  lose  himself  for  all 
time. 

From  the  bottom  of  the  kitbag  he  dug  up  a  blue 
velours  case,  which  after  a  moment's  hesitation  he 
opened.  Medals  incrusted  with  precious  stones; 
but  on  the  top  was  the  photograph  of  a  charming  girl, 
blonde  as  ripe  wheat,  and  arrayed  for  the  tennis  court. 
It  was  this  photograph  he  wanted.  Indifferently  he 
tossed  the  case  upon  the  centre  table,  and  it  upset, 
sending  the  medals  about  with  a  ring  and  a  tinkle, 


14  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

The  man  in  the  next  room  heard  this  sound,  and  his 
eye  roved  desperately.  Some  way  to  peer  into 
yonder  room!  But  there  was  no  transom,  and  he 
would  not  yet  dare  risk  the  fire  escape. 

The  young  man  raised  the  photograph  to  his  lips 
and  kissed  it  passionately. 

Then  he  hid  it  in  the  lining  of  his  coat,  there  being  a 
convenient  rent  in  the  inside  pocket. 

"I  must  not  think!"  he  murmured.  "I  must 
not!" 

He  became  the  hunted  man  again.  He  turned  a 
chair  upend  and  placed  it  under  the  window.  He 
tipped  another  in  front  of  the  door.  On  the  threshold 
of  the  bathroom  door  he  deposited  the  water  carafe 
and  the  glasses.  His  bed  was  against  the  connecting 
door.  No  man  would  be  able  to  enter  unannounced. 

He  had  no  intention  of  letting  himself  fall  asleep. 
He  would  stretch  out  and  rest.  So  he  lit  his  pipe, 
banked  the  two  pillows,  switched  out  the  light,  and 
lay  down.  Only  the  intermittent  glow  of  his  pipe 
coal  could  be  seen.  Near  the  journey's  end;  and  no 
more  tight-rope  walking,  with  death  at  both  ends, 
and  death  staring  up  from  below.  Queer  how  the 
human  being  clung  to  life.  What  had  he  to  live  for? 
Nothing.  So  far  as  he  was  concerned,  the  world 
had  come  to  an  end.  Sporting  instinct;  probably 
that  was  it;  couldn't  make  up  his  mind  to  shuffle  off 
this  mortal  coil  until  he  had  beaten  his  enemies. 
English  university  education  had  dulled  the  bite  of 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  15 

his  natural  fatalism.  To  carry  on  for  the  sport  of  it; 
not  to  accept  fate  but  to  fight  it. 

By  chance  his  hand  touched  his  spiky  chin.  Never- 
theless, he  would  have  to  enter  New  York  just  as  he 
was.  He  had  left  his  razor  in  a  Pullman  washroom 
hurriedly  one  morning.  He  dared  not  risk  a  barber's 
chair,  especially  these  American  chairs,  that  stretched 
one  out  in  a  most  helpless  manner. 

Slowly  his  pipe  sank  toward  his  breast.  The 
weary  body  was  overcoming  the  will.  A  sound  broke 
the  pleasant  spell.  He  sat  up,  tense. 

Someone  had  entered  through  the  window  and 
stumbled  over  the  chair!  Hawksley  threw  on  the 
light. 


CHAPTER  II 

WHEN  the  day  clerk  arrived  the  night  clerk 
sleepily  informed  him  that  the  guest  in 
Room  214  was  without  baggage  and  had 
not  paid  in  advance. 
"Leave  a  call?" 

"No.  I  thought  I'd  put  you  wise.  I  didn't 
notice  that  the  man  had  no  grip  until  he  was  in  the 
elevator." 

"All  right.  I'll  send  the  bell-hop  captain  up 
with  a  fake  call  to  see  if  the  man's  still  there." 

When  the  captain— late  of  the  A.E.F.  in  France- 
returned  to  the  office  he  was  mildly  excited. 

"Gee,  there's  been  a  whale  of  a  scrap  in  Room  212. 
The  chambermaid  let  me  in." 

;'Murder?"  whispered  the  clerks  in  unison. 

"Murder  your  granny!  Naw!  Just  a  fight  be- 
tween 212  and  214,  because  both  of  'em  have  flown 
the  roost.  But  take  a  peek  at  what  I  found  on  the 
table." 

It  was  a  case  of  blue  velours.  The  boy  threw 
back  the  lid  dramatically. 

"War  medals?" 

"If  they  are  I  never  piped  'em  before.  They 
ain't  French  or  British."  The  captain  of  the  bell- 


16 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  17 

boys  scratched  his  head  ruminatively.  "Gee,  I 
got  it!  Orders,  that's  what  they  all  'em.  Kings 
pay  'em  out  Saturdays  when  the  pay  roll  is  nix. 
Will  you  pipe  the  diamonds  and  rubies?  There's 
your  room  rents,  monseer." 

The  day  clerk,  who  considered  himself  a  judge, 
was  of  the  opinion  that  there  were  two  or  three 
thousand  dollars  tied  up  hi  the  stones.  It  was  a 
police  affair.  Some  ambassador  had  been  robbed, 
and  the  Britisher  and  the  Greek  or  Bulgarian  were 
mixed  up  in  it.  Loot. 

"I  thought  the  war  was  over,"  said  the  night  clerk. 

"The  shootin'  is  over,  that's  all,"  said  the  captain 
of  the  bellboys,  sagely. 

What  had  happened  in  Room  212?  A  duel  of  wits 
rather  than  of  physical  contact.  Hawksley  realized 
instantly  that  here  was  the  crucial  moment.  Caught 
and  overpowered,  he  was  lost.  If  he  shouted  for 
help  and  it  came,  he  was  lost.  Once  the  police  took  a 
hand  in  the  affair,  the  newspaper  publicity  that  would 
follow  would  result  in  the  total  rum  of  all  his  hopes. 
There  was  only  one  chance — to  finish  this  affair 
outside  the  hotel,  in  some  fog-dimmed  street.  There 
leaped  into  his  mind,  obliquely  and  queerly,  a  picture 
in  one  of  Victor  Hugo's  tales — Quasimodo.  And 
there  he  stood,  in  every  particular  save  the  crooked 
back.  And  on  the  top  of  this  came  the  recollection 
that  he  had  seen  the  man  before.  .  .  .  The 
torches!  The  red  torches  and  the  hobnailed  boots! 


18  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

There  began  an  odd  game,  a  dancing  match,  which 
the  young  man  led  adroitly,  always  with  his  thought 
upon  the  open  window.  There  would  be  no  shoot- 
ing; Quasimodo  would  not  want  the  police  either. 
Hah*  a  dozen  times  his  fingers  touched  futilely  the 
dancing  master's  coat.  Back  and  forth  across  the 
room,  over  the  bed,  round  the  stand  and  chairs. 
Persistently,  as  if  he  understood  the  young  man's 
manoeuvres,  the  squat  individual  kept  to  the  window 
side  of  the  room. 

An  inspiration  brought  the  affair  to  an  end. 
Hawksley  snatched  up  the  bedclothes  and  threw 
them  as  the  ancient  retiarius  threw  his  net.  He 
managed  to  win  to  the  lower  platform  of  the  fire 
escape  before  Quasimodo  emerged. 

There  was  a  fourteen-foot  drop  to  the  street,  and 
the  man  with  the  golden  stubble  on  his  chin  and 
cheeks  swung  for  a  moment  to  gauge  his  landing. 
Quasimodo  came  after  with  the  agility  of  an  ape. 
The  race  down  the  street  began  with  about  a  hundred 
yards  in  between. 

Down  the  hfll  they  went,  like  phantoms.  The 
distance  did  not  widen.  Bears  will  run  amazingly 
fast  and  for  a  long  while.  The  quarry  cut  into 
Pearl  Street  for  a  block,  turned  a  corner,  and  soon 
vaguely  espied  the  Hudson  River.  He  made  for 
this. 

To  the  mind  of  Quasimodo  this  flight  had  but  one 
significance — he  was  dealing  with  an  arrant  coward; 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  19 

and  he  based  his  subsequent  acts  upon  this  premise, 
forgetting  that  brave  men  run  when  need  says  must. 
It  would  have  surprised  him  exceedingly  to  learn 
that  he  was  not  driving,  that  he  was  being  led. 
Hawksley  wanted  his  enemy  alone,  where  no  one 
would  see  to  interfere.  Red  torches  and  hobnailed 
boots!-  For  once  the  two  bloods,  always  more  or 
less  at  war,  merged  in  a  common  purpose — to  kill 
this  beast,  to  grind  the  face  of  him  into  pulp!  Red 
torches  and  hobnailed  boots! 

Presently  one  of  the  huge  passenger  boats,  moored 
for  the  winter,  loomed  up  through  the  fog;  and  toward 
this  Hawksley  directed  his  steps.  He  made  a  flying 
leap  aboard  and  vanished  round  the  deckhouse  to  the 
river  side. 

Quasimodo  laughed  as  he  followed.  It  was  as  if 
the  tobacco  pouch  and  the  appraiser's  receipt  were 
in  his  own  pocket;  and  broad  rivers  made  capital 
graveyards.  They  two  alone  in  the  fog!  He  whirled 
round  the  deckhouse — and  backed  on  his  heels  to  get 
his  balance.  Directly  in  front,  in  a  very  understand- 
able pose,  was  the  intended  victim,  his  jaw  jutting, 
his  eyelids  narrowed. 

Quasimodo  tried  desperately  to  reach  for  his  pistol; 
but  a  bolt  of  lightning  stopped  the  action.  There  is 
something  peculiar  about  a  blow  on  the  nose,  a  good 
blow.  The  Anglo-Saxon  peoples  alone  possess  the 
counterattack — a  rush.  To  other  peoples  concentra- 
tion of  thought  is  impossible  after  the  impact.  In- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 
stinctively  Quasimodo's  hands  flew  to  his  face      He 

M  /    7*'  mirtUeSS  and  ter*'e-     Before  he 
could  drop  his  hands  from  his  face-blows,  snort  and 
bonng,  from  this  side  and  from  that,  over  and  under 
•he  squat  man  was  brave  enough;  simply  he  did 
not  kaow  how  to  fight  in  this  manner.     He  was  am 

' 


WJd  with  rage  and  pain  he  bored  in.     He  had  but 


himself  and  this  enemy 

woefully  underestimated.     Ten  feet,  and  he  miehT 
b«  ab,e  to  whirl,  draw  his  pisiol,  and  endte* 


sagged  and  went  spraw.ing  upon  his  face     xe 
tor  turned  him  over  ^  raised  a  j^  ^ 

He  was  neither  Prussian  nor  Sudanese  black 


there  was  one  thing  a  white  man  might  do 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  21 

in  such  a  case  without  disturbing  the  ethical,  and  he 
proceeded  about  it  forthwith:  Draw  the  devil's 
fangs;  render  him  impotent  for  a  few  hours. 

He  deliberately  knelt  on  one  of  the  outspread  arms 
and  calmly  emptied  the  insensible  man's  pockets. 
He  took  everything — watch,  money,  passport,  letters, 
pistol,  keys — rose  and  dropped  them  into  the  river. 
He  overlooked  Quasimodo's  belt,  however.  The 
Anglo-Saxon  idea  was  top  hole.  His  fists  had  saved 
his  life. 


CHAPTER 

HAWKSLEY  heard  the  panting  of  an  engine 
and  turned  his  head.  Dimly  he  saw  a  giant 
bridge  and  a  long  drab  train  moving  across 
it.  He  picked  up  the  fallen  man's  cap  and  tried  it 
on.  Not  a  particularly  good  fit,  but  it  would  serve. 
He  then  trotted  round  the  deckhouse  to  the  street 
side,  jumped  to  the  wharf,  and  sucking  the  cracked 
knuckles  of  his  right  hand  fell  into  a  steady  dogtrot 
which  carried  him  to  the  station  he  had  left  so  hope- 
fully an  hour  and  a  half  gone. 

An  accommodation  train  eventually  deposited 
him  in  Poughkeepsie,  where  he  purchased  a  cap  and  a 
sturdy  walking  stick.  The  stubble  on  his  chin  and 
cheeks  began  to  irritate  him  intensely,  but  he  could 
not  rid  himself  of  the  idea  that  a  barber's  chair  would 
be  inviting  danger.  He  was  now  tolerably  certain 
that  from  one  end  of  the  continent  to  the  other  his 
presence  was  known.  His  life  and  his  property, 
they  would  be  after  both.  Even  now  there  might  be 
men  in  this  strange  town  seeking  him.  The  closer 
he  got  to  New  York,  the  more  active  and  wide-awake 
they  would  become. 

He  walked  the  streets,  his  glance  constantly 
roving.  But  apparently  no  one  paid  the  least  atten- 

22 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  23 

tion  to  him.  Finally  he  returned  to  the  railway  sta- 
tion; and  at  six  o'clock  that  evening  he  left  the 
platform  of  the  125th  Street  Station,  and  appraised 
covertly  the  men  who  accompanied  him  to  the  street. 
He  felt  assured  that  they  were  all  Americans.  Prob- 
ably they  were;  but  there  are  still  some  stray  fools 
of  American  birth  who  cannot  accept  the  great  Amer- 
ican doctrine  as  the  only  Ararat  visible  in  this  present 
flood.  Perhaps  one  of  these  accompanied  Hawksley 
to  the  street.  Whatever  he  was,  one  had  upon  order 
met  every  south-going  train  since  seven  o'clock  that 
morning,  when  Quasimodo,  paying  from  the  gold 
hidden  in  his  belt,  had  sent  forth  the  telegraphic 
alarm.  The  man  hurried  across  the  street  and  fol- 
lowed Hawksley  by  matching  his  steps.  His  busi- 
ness was  merely  to  learn  the  other's  destination  and 
then  to  report. 

1  Across  the  earth  a  tempest  had  been  loosed;  but 
Ariel  did  not  ride  it,  Caliban  did.  The  scythe  of 
terror  was  harvesting  a  type;  and  the  innocent  were 
bending  with  the  guilty. 

Suddenly  Hawksley  felt  young,  revivified,  free. 
He  had  arrived.  Surmounting  indescribable  haz- 
ards and  hardships  he  walked  the  pavement  of  New 
York.  In  an  hour  the  mutable  quicksands  of  a  great 
city  would  swallow  him  forever.  Free!  He  wanted 
to  stroll  about,  peer  into  shop  windows,  watch  the 
amazing  electric  signs,  dally;  but  he  still  had  much 
to  accomplish. 


24  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

He  searched  for  a  telephone  sign.  It  was  neces- 
sary that  he  find  one  immediately.  He  had  once 
spent  six  weeks  in  and  about  this  marvellous  city, 
and  he  had  a  vague  recollection  of  the  blue-and- 
white  enamel  signs.  Shortly  he  found  one.  It  was  a 
pay  station  in  the  rear  of  a  news  and  tobacco  shop. 

He  entered  a  booth,  but  discovered  that  he  had  no 
five-cent  pieces  in  his  purse.  He  hurried  out  to  the 
girl  behind  the  cigar  stand.  She  was  exhibiting  a  box 
of  cigars  to  a  customer,  who  selected  three,  paid  for 
them,  and  walked  away.  Hawksley,  boiling  with 
haste  to  have  his  affair  done,  flung  a  silver  coin 
toward  the  girl. 

"Five-cent  pieces!" 

"Will  you  take  them  with  you  or  shall  I  send 
them?"  asked  the  girl,  earnestly. 

"I  beg  pardon!" 

"Any  particular  kind  of  ribbon  you  want  the  box 
tied  with?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  repeated  Hawksley,  har- 
ried and  bewildered.  "But  I'm  in  a  hurry " 

"Too  much  of  a  hurry  to  leave  out  the  bark  when 
you  ask  a  favour?  I  make  change  out  of  courtesy. 
And  you  all  bark  at  me  Nickel !  Nickel !  as  if  that  was 
my  job." 

"A  thousand  apologies!" — contritely. 

"And  don't  make  it  any  worse  by  suggesting  a 
movie  after  supper.  My  mother  never  lets  me  go  out 
after  dark." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  25 

i 

"I  rather  fancy  she's  quite  sensible.  Still,  you 
seem  able  to  take  care  of  yourself.  I  might  sug- 
gest- 

"With  that  black  eye?  Nay,  nay!  I'll  bet  some- 
body's brother  gave  it  to  you." 

"Venus  was  not  on  that  occasion  in  ascendancy. 
Thank  you  for  the  change."  Hawksley  swung  on 
his  heel  and  reentered  the  booth. 

A  great  weariness  oppressed  him.  A  longing,  al- 
most irresistible,  came  to  him  to  go  out  and  cry 
aloud:  "Here  I  am!  Kill  me!  I  am  tired  and 
done!"  For  he  had  recognized  the  purchaser  of 
the  cigars  as  one  of  the  men  who  had  left  the  125th 
Street  Station  at  the  same  time  as  he.  He  remem- 
bered distinctly  that  this  man  had  been  in  a  hurry. 
Perhaps  the  whole  dizzy  affair  was  reacting  upon  his 
imagination  psychologically  and  turning  harmless 
individuals  into  enemies. 

"Hello! "  said  a  man's  voice  over  the  wire. 

"Is  Mr.  Rathbone  there?" 

"Captain  Rathbone  is  with  his  regiment  at  Co- 
blenz,  sir." 

"Coblenz?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  do  not  expect  his  return  until  near 
midsummer,  sir.  Who  is  this  talking?" 

"Have  you  opened  a  cable  from  Yokohama?" 

"This  is  Mr.  Hawksley!"  The  voice  became 
excited. 

"Yes." 


26  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Oh,  sir!  You  will  come  right  away.  I  alone 
understand,  sir.  You  will  remember  me  when  you 
see  me.  I'm  the  captain's  butler,  sir — Jenkins.  He 
cabled  back  to  give  you  the  entire  run  of  the  house  as 
long  as  you  desired  it.  He  advised  me  to  notify 
you  that  he  had  also  prepared  his  banker  against 
your  arrival.  Have  your  luggage  sent  here  at  once, 
sir.  Dinner  will  be  at  your  convenience." 

Hawksley's  body  relaxed.  A  lump  came  into  his 
throat.  Here  was  a  friend,  anyhow,  ready  to  serve 
him  though  he  was  thousands  of  miles  away. 

When  he  could  trust  himself  to  speak  he  said: 
"Sorry.  It  will  be  impossible  to  accept  the  hospi- 
tality at  present.  I  shall  call  in  a  few  days,  however, 
to  establish  my  identity.  Thank  you.  Good  even- 
ing." 

"Just  a  moment,  sir.  I  may  have  an  important 
cable  to  transmit  to  you.  It  would  be  wise  to  leave 
me  your  address,  sir." 

Hawksley  hesitated  a  moment.  After  all,  he  could 
trust  this  perfect  old  servant,  whom  he  remembered. 
He  gave  the  address. 

As  he  came  out  of  the  booth  the  girl  stretched  forth 
an  arm  to  detain  him.  He  stopped. 

"I'm  sorry  I  spoke  like  that,"  she  said.  "But  I'm 
so  tired!  I've  been  on  my  feet  all  day,  and  every- 
body's been  barking  and  growling;  and  if  I'd  taken 
in  as  many  nickels  as  I've  passed  out  in  change  the 
boss  would  be  rich." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  27 

"Give  me  a  dozen  of  those  roses  there."  She 
sold  flowers  also.  "The  pink  ones.  How  much?" 
he  asked. 

"Two-fifty." 

He  laid  down  the  money.  "Never  mind  the  box. 
They  are  for  you.  Good  evening." 

The  girl  stared  at  the  flowers  as  Ali  Baba  must  have 
stared  at  the  cask  with  rubies. 

" For  me ! "  she  whispered.     " For  nothing ! " 

Her  eyes  blurred.  She  never  saw  Hawksley 
again;  but  that  was  of  no  importance.  She  had 
a  gentle  deed  to  put  away  in  the  lavender  of 
recollection. 

Outside  Hawksley  could  see  nothing  of  the  man 
who  had  bought  the  cigars.  At  any  rate,  further 
dodging  would  be  useless.  He  would  go  directly 
to  his  destination.  Old  Gregor  had  sent  him  a 
duplicate  key  to  the  apartment.  He  could  hide 
there  for  a  day  or  two;  then  visit  Rathbone's  banker 
at  his  residence  in  the  night  to  establish  his  identity. 
Gregor  could  be  trusted  to  carry  the  wallet  and  the 
pouch  to  the  bank.  Once  these  were  walled  in  steel 
half  the  battle  would  be  over.  He  would  have 
nothing  to  guard  thereafter  but  his  life.  He  laughed 
brokenly.  Nothing  but  the  clothes  he  stood  in. 
He  never  could  claim  the  belongings  he  had  been 
forced  to  leave  in  that  hotel  back  yonder. 

But  there  was  loyal  old  Gregor.  Somebody  would 
be  honestly  glad  to  see  him.  The  poor  old  chap! 


28  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Astonishing,  but  of  late  he  was  always  thinking  : 
English. 

He  hailed  the  first  free  taxicab  he  saw,  climbed  i 
and  was  driven  downtown.  He  looked  back  coi 
stantly.  Was  he  followed?  There  was  no  way  ( 
telling.  The  street  was  alive  with  vehicles  tearu] 
north  and  south,  with  frequent  stoppage  for  the  pa; 
sage  of  those  racing  east  and  west.  The  destinatio 
of  Hawksley's  cab  was  an  old-fashioned  apartmer 
house  in  Eightieth  Street. 

Gregor  would  have  a  meal  ready;  and  it  struc 
Hawksley  forcibly  that  he  was  hungry,  that  he  ha 
not  touched  food  since  the  night  before.  Gregoi 
valeting  in  a  hotel,  pressing  coats  and  trousers  an< 
sewing  on  buttons!  Groggy  old  world,  wasn't  it 
Gregor,  pressing  the  trousers  of  the  hoi  polloi 
Gregor,  who  could  have  sent  New  York  mad  wit] 
that  old  Stradivarius  of  his!  But  Gregor  was  wise 
Safety  for  him  lay  in  obscurity;  and  what  was  mor< 
obscure  than  a  hotel  valet? 

He  did  not  seek  the  elevator  but  mounted  the  firs 
flight  of  stairs.  He  saw  two  doors,  one  on  each  sid< 
of  the  landing.  He  sought  one,  stooped  and  peerec 
at  the  card  over  the  bell.  Conover.  Gregor's  wa* 
opposite.  Having  a  key  he  did  not  knock  but  un- 
locked the  door  and  stepped  into  the  dark  hall. 

"Stefani  Gregor?"  he  called,  joyously.  "Stefani. 
my  old  friend,  it  is  I!" 

Silence.     But  that  was  understandable.     Either 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  29 

Gregor  had  not  returned  from  his  labours  or  he  was 
out  gathering  the  essentials  for  the  evening  meal. 
Judging  from  the  variety  of  odours  that  swam  the 
halls  of  this  human  warren  many  suppers  were  in 
the  process  of  making,  and  the  top  flavour  was  garlic. 
He  sniffed  pleasurably.  Not  that  the  smell  of  garlic 
quickened  his  hunger.  It  merely  sent  his  thought 
galloping  backward  a  score  of  years.  He  saw  Stefani 
Gregor  and  a  small  boy  hi  mountain  costume  footing 
it  sturdily  along  the  dizzy  goat  paths  of  the  rugged 
hills;  saw  the  two  sitting  on  some  ruddy  promontory 
and  munching  black  bread  rubbed  with  garlic. 
Ambrosia!  His  mother's  horror,  when  she  smelt 
his  breath — as  if  garlic  had  not  been  one  of  her  birth- 
rights! His  uncle,  roaring  out  in  his  bull's  voice 
that  black  bread  and  garlic  were  good  for  little  boys' 
stomachs,  and  made  the  stuff  of  soldiers.  Black 
bread  and  garlic  and  the  Golden  Age! 

After  he  had  flooded  the  hall  with  light  he  began 
a  tour  of  inspection.  The  rooms  were  rather  bare 
but  clean  and  orderly.  Here  and  there  were  items 
that  kept  the  homeland  green  hi  the  recollection. 
He  came  to  the  bedroom  last.  He  hesitated  for  a 
moment  before  opening  the  door.  The  lights  told 
him  why  Gregor  had  not  greeted  his  entering 
hail. 

The  overturned  reading  lamp,  the  broken  chair,  the 
letters  and  papers  strewn  about  the  floor,  the  rifled 
bureau  drawers — these  things  spoke  plainly  enough. 


30 

Gregor  was  a  prisoner  somewhere  in  this  vast  city; 
or  he  was  dead. 

Hawksley  stood  motionless  for  a  space.  And  he 
must  remain  here  at  least  for  a  night  and  a  day! 
He  would  not  dare  risk  another  hotel.  He  could, 
of  course,  go  to  the  splendid  Rathbone  place;  but 
it  would  not  be  fair  to  invite  tragedy  across  that 
threshold. 

A  ball  of  crushed  paper  at  his  feet  attracted  his 
attention.  He  kicked  it  absently,  followed  and 
picked  it  up,  his  thought  on  other  things.  He  was 
aimlessly  smoothing  it  out  when  an  English  word 
caught  his  eye.  English!  He  smoothed  the 
crumpled  sheet  and  read: 

If  you  find  this  it  is  the  will  of  God.  I  have  been  watched  for 
several  days,  and  am  now  convinced  that  they  have  always 
known  I  was  here  but  were  leaving  me  alone  for  some  unknown 
purpose.  I  roll  this  ball  because  anything  folded  and  left  in  a 
conspicuous  place  would  be  useless  should  they  come  for  me.  I 
understand.  It  is  you,  poor  boy.  They  are  watching  me  in 
hopes  of  catching  you,  and  I've  no  way  to  warn  you  not  to  come 
here.  It  was  after  I  sent  you  the  key  that  I  learned  the  truth. 
God  bless  you  and  guard  you ! 

STEFANI. 

Hawksley  tore  the  note  into  scraps.  Food  and 
sleep.  He  walked  toward  the  kitchen,  musing. 
What  an  odd  mixture  he  was!  Superficially  British, 
with  the  British  outlook;  and  yet  filled  with  the 
dancing  blood  of  the  Latin  and  the  cold,  phlegmatic 
blood  of  the  Slav.  He  was  like  a  schoolmaster  with 


TJie  Drums  of  Jeopardy  31 

two  students  too  big  for  him  to  handle.  Always  the 
Latin  was  dispossessing  the  Slav  or  the  Slav  was 
ousting  the  Latin.  With  fatalistic  confidence  that 
nevermore  would  he  look  upon  the  kindly  face  of 
Stefani  Gregor,  alive,  he  went  in  search  of  food. 

Not  a  crust  did  he  find.  In  the  ice-chest  there  was 
a  bottle  of  milk — soured.  Hungry;  and  not  a 
crumb!  And  he  dared  not  go  out  in  search  of  food. 
No  one  had  observed  his  entrance  to  the  apartment, 
but  it  was  improbable  that  such  luck  would  attend 
him  a  second  time. 

He  returned  to  the  bedroom.  He  did  not  turn 
on  the  light  because  a  novel  idea  had  blossomed  un- 
expectedly— a  Latin  idea.  There  might  be  food  on 
some  window  ledge.  He  would  leave  payment. 
He  proceeded  to  the  window,  throwing  up  both  it 
and  the  curtain,  and  looked  out.  Ripping!  There 
was  a  fire  escape. 

As  he  slipped  a  leg  over  the  sill  a  golden  square 
sprang  into  existence  across  the  way.  Immediately 
he  forgot  his  foraging  instincts.  In  a  moment  he 
was  all  Latin,  always  susceptible  to  the  enchantment 
of  beauty. 

The  distance  across  the  court  was  less  than  forty 
feet.  He  could  see  the  girl  quite  plainly  as  she  set 
about  the  preparation  of  her  evening  meal.  He 
forgot  his  danger,  his  hunger,  his  code  of  ethics, 
which  did  not  permit  him  to  gaze  at  a  young  woman 
through  a  window. 


32  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Alone.  He  was  alone  and  she  was  alone.  A  novel 
idea  popped  into  his  head.  He  chuckled;  and  the 
sound  of  that  chuckle  in  his  ears  somehow  brought 
back  his  resolve  to  carry  on,  to  pass  out,  if  so  he  must, 
fighting.  He  would  knock  on  yonder  window  and 
ask  the  beautiful  lady  slavey  for  a  bit  of  her  supper! 


CHAPTER  IV 

K[TTY  CONOVER  had  inherited  brains  and 
"beauty,  and  nothing  else  but  the  furniture. 
Her  father  had  been  a  famous  reporter,  the 
admiration  of  cubs  from  New  York  to  San  Fran- 
cisco; handsome,  happy-go-lucky,  generous,  rather 
improvident,  and  wholly  lovable.  Her  mother  had 
been  a  comedy  actress  noted  for  her  beauty  and 
wit  and  extravagance.  Thus  it  will  be  seen  that 
Kitty  was  in  luck  to  inherit  any  furniture  at  all. 

Kitty  was  twenty -four.  A  body  is  as  old  as  it  is, 
but  a  brain  is  as  old  as  the  facts  it  absorbs;  and  Kitty 
had  absorbed  enough  facts  to  carry  her  brain  well 
into  the  thirties. 

Conover  had  been  dead  twenty  years;  and  Kitty 
had  scarcely  any  recollections  of  him.  Improvident 
as  the  run  of  newspaper  writers  are,  Conover  had  ful- 
filled one  obligation  to  his  family — he  had  kept  up  his 
endowment  policies;  and  for  eighteen  years  the  insur- 
ance had  taken  care  of  Kitty  and  her  mother,  who  be- 
cause of  a  weak  ankle  had  not  been  able  to  return  to 
the  scenes  of  her  former  triumphs.  In  1915  this 
darling  mother,  whom  Kitty  loved  to  idolatry,  had 
passed  on. 

There  was  enough  for  the  funeral  and  the  cleaning 

33 


34  TJie  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

up  of  the  bills;  but  that  was  all.  The  income  ceased 
with  Mrs.  Conover's  demise.  Kitty  saw  that  she 
must  give  up  writing  short  stories  which  nobody 
wanted,  and  go  to  work.  So  she  proceeded  at  once 
to  the  newspaper  office  where  her  father's  name  was 
still  a  tradition,  and  applied  for  a  job.  It  was  frankly 
a  charity  job,  but  Kitty  was  never  to  know  that 
because  she  fell  into  the  newspaper  game  naturally; 
and  when  they  discovered  her  wide  acquaintance 
among  theatrical  celebrities  they  switched  her  into 
the  dramatic  department,  where  she  had  astonishing 
success  as  a  raconteur.  She  was  now  assistant  dra- 
matic editor  of  the  Sunday  issue,  and  her  pay  enve- 
lope had  four  crisp  ten-dollar  notes  hi  it  each  Monday. 

She  still  remained  in  the  old  apartment;  sentiment 
as  much  as  anything.  She  had  been  born  in  it  and 
her  happiest  days  had  been  spent  there.  She  lived 
alone,  without  help,  being  one  of  that  singular  type 
of  womanhood  that  is  impervious  to  the  rust  of  lone- 
liness. Her  daily  activities  sufficed  the  gregarious 
instincts,  and  it  was  often  a  relief  to  move  about  in 
silence 

Among  other  things  Kitty  had  foresight.  She 
had  learned  that  a  little  money  in  the  background 
was  the  most  satisfying  thing  in  existence.  So 
many  times  she  and  her  mother  had  just  reached  the 
insurance  check,  with  grumbling  bill  collectors  in 
the  hall,  that  she  was  determined  never  to  be  poor. 
She  had  to  fight  constantly  her  love  of  finery  inher- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  35 

ited  from  her  mother,  and  her  love  of  good  times 
inherited  from  her  father.  So  she  established  a  bank 
account,  and  to  date  had  not  drawn  a  check  against 
it;  which  speaks  well  for  her  will  power,  an  attribute 
cultivated,  not  inherited. 

Kitty  was  as  pleasing  to  the  eye  as  a  basket  of 
fruit.  Her  beauty  was  animated.  There  was  an 
expression  in  her  eyes  and  on  her  lips  that  spoke  of 
laughter  always  on  tiptoe.  An  enviable  inheritance, 
this,  the  desire  to  laugh,  to  be  searching  always  for 
a  vent  to  laughter;  it  is  something  money  cannot 
buy,  something  not  to  be  cultivated;  a  true  gift  of 
the  gods.  This  desire  to  laugh  is  found  invariably 
in  the  tender  and  valorous;  and  Kitty  was  both. 
Brown  hair  with  running  threads  of  gold  that  was 
always  catching  light;  slate-blue  eyes  with  heavy 
black  fringe — Irish;  colour  that  waxed  and  waned; 
and  a  healthy,  shapely  body.  Topped  by  a  sparkling 
intellect  these  gifts  made  Kitty  desirable  of  men. 

Kitty  had  no  beau.  After  the  adolescent  days 
beaux  ceased  to  interest  her.  This  would  indicate 
that  she  was  inclined  toward  suffrage.  Nothing  of 
the  kind.  Intensely  romantic,  she  determined  to 
await  the  grand  passion  or  go  it  alone.  No  experi- 
mental adventures  for  her.  Be  assured  that  she 
weighed  every  new  man  she  met,  and  finding  some 
flaw  discarded  him  as  a  matrimonial  possibility. 
Besides,  her  unusual  facilities  to  view  and  judge 
men  had  shown  her  masculine  phases  the  average  wo- 


36  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

man  would  have  discovered  only  after  the  fatal  knot 
was  tied.  She  did  not  suspect  that  she  was  romanti- 
cal.  She  attributed  her  wariness  to  common  sense. 

If  there  is  one  place  where  a  pretty  young  woman 
may  labour  without  having  to  build  a  wall  of  liquid 
air  about  her  to  fend  off  amatory  advances  that 
place  is  the  editorial  room  of  a  great  metropolitan 
daily.  One  must  have  leisure  to  fall  in  love;  and 
only  the  office  boys  could  assemble  enough  idle  time 
to  call  it  leisure. 

Her  desk  faced  Burlingame's;  and  Burlingame  was 
the  dramatic  editor,  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman.  He 
liked  to  hear  Kitty  talk,  and  often  he  lured  her  into 
the  open;  and  he  gathered  information  about  theatri- 
cal folks  that  was  outside  even  his  wide  range  of 
knowledge. 

A  drizzly  fog  had  hung  over  New  York  since  morn- 
ing. Kitty  was  finishing  up  some  Sunday  special. 
Burlingame  was  reading  proofs.  All  day  theatrical 
folks  had  been  in  and  out  of  this  little  ten-by-twelve 
cubby-hole;  and  now  there  would  be  quiet. 

But  no.  The  door  opened  and  an  iron-gray  head 
intruded. 

"Will  I  be  in  the  way?" 

"Lord,  no!"  cried  Burlingame,  throwing  down  his 
proofs.  "  Come  along  in,  Cutty." 

The  great  war  correspondent  came  in  and  sat 
down,  sighing  gratefully. 


37 

Cutty  was  a  nickname;  he  carried  and  smoked — 
everywhere  they  would  permit  him — the  worst- 
looking  and  the  worst-smelling  pipe  in  Christendom. 
You  may  not  realize  it,  but  a  nickname  is  a  round- 
about Anglo-Saxon  way  of  telling  a  fellow  you  love 
him.  He  was  Cutty,  but  only  among  his  dear  inti- 
mates, mind  you;  to  the  world  at  large,  to  presidents, 
kings,  ambassadors,  generals,  and  capitalists  he  is 
known  by  another  name.  You  will  find  it  on  the 
roster  of  the  Royal  Geographical;  on  the  title  page  of 
several  unique  books  on  travel,  jewels,  and  drums; 
in  magazines  and  newspapers;  on  the  membership 
roll  of  the  Savage  in  London  and  the  Lambs  in  New 
York.  But  you  will  not  find  it  hi  this  story;  decause 
it  would  not  be  fair  to  set  his  name  against  the  un- 
usual adventures  that  crossed  his  line  of  life  with 
that  of  the  young  man  who  wore  the  tobacco  pouch 
suspended  from  his  neck. 

Tall,  bony,  graceful  enough  except  in  a  chair, 
where  his  angles  became  conspicuous;  the  ruddy, 
weather-bitten  complexion  of  a  deep-sea  sailor,  and  a 
sailorman's  blue  eye;  the  brow  of  a  thinker  and  the 
mouth  of  a  humourist.  Men  often  call  another 
man  handsome  when  a  woman  knows  they  mean 
manly.  Among  men  Cutty  was  handsome. 

Kitty  considerately  rose  and  gathered  up  her  manu- 
script. 

"  No,  no,  Kitty !  I'd  rather  talk  to  you  than  Burly, 
here.  You're  always  reminding  me  of  that  father  of 


38  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

yours.  Best  comrade  I  ever  had.  You  laugh  just 
like  him.  Did  your  mother  ever  tell  you  that  old 
Cutty  is  your  godfather?" 

"Good  gracious!" 

"Fact.     I  told  your  dad  I'd  watch  over  you." 

"And  a  fat  lot  of  watching  you've  done  to  date," 
jeered  Burlingame. 

"Couldn't  help  that.  But  I  can  be  on  the  job 
until  I  return  to  the  Balkans." 

Kitty  laughed  joyously  and  sat  down,  perhaps 
a  little  thrilled.  She  had  always  admired  Cutty 
from  afar,  shyly.  Once  in  a  blue  moon  he  had 
in  the  old  days  appeared  for  tea;  and  he  and  Mrs. 
Conover  would  spend  the  balance  of  the  after- 
noon discussing  the  lovable  qualities  of  Tommy 
Conover.  Kitty  had  seen  him  but  twice" during  the 
war. 

"Every  so  often,"  began  Cutty,  "I  have  to  find 
listeners.  Fact.  I  used  to  hate  crowds,  listeners; 
but  those  ten  days  in  an  open  boat,  a  thousand  miles 
from  anywhere,  made  me  gregarious.  I'm  always 
wanting  company  and  hating  to  go  to  bed,  which  is 
bad  business  for  a  man  of  fifty-two."  Cutty's  ship 
had  been  torpedoed. 

To  Kitty,  with  his  tired  eyes  and  weather-bitten 
face,  his  bony,  gangling  body,  he  had  the  appearance 
of  a  lazy  man.  Actually  she  knew  him  to  be  a  man 
of  tremendous  vitality  and  endurance.  Eagles 
when  they  roost  are  heavy-lidded  and  clumsy.  She 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  39 

wondered  if  there  was  a  corner  on  the  globe  he  had 
not  peered  into. 

For  thirty  years  he  had  been  following  two  gods — 
Rumour  and  War.  For  thirty  years  he  had  been  the 
slave  of  cables  and  telegrams.  Even  now  he  was 
preparing  to  return  to  the  Balkans,  where  the  great 
fire  had  started  and  where  there  were  still  some 
threatening  embers  to  watch. 

Cutty  was  not  well  known  in  America;  his  reputa- 
tion was  European.  He  played  the  game  because  he 
loved  it,  being  comfortably  fortified  with  worldly 
goods.  He  was  a  linguist  of  rare  attainments, 
specializing  in  the  polyglot  of  southeastern  Europe. 
He  came  and  went  like  cloud  shadow.  His  foresight 
was  so  keen  he  was  seldom  ordered  to  go  here  or  there; 
he  was  generally  on  the  spot  when  the  orders  arrived. 

He  was  interested  in  socialism  and  its  bewildering 
ramifications,  but  only  as  an  analytical  student. 
He  could  fit  himself  into  any  environment,  interview 
a  prime  minister  in  the  afternoon  and  take  potluck 
that  night  with  the  anarchist  who  was  planning  to 
blow  up  the  prime  minister. 

Burlingame,  an  intimate,  often  exposed  for  Kitty's 
delectation  the  amazing  and  colourful  facets  of 
Cutty's  diamond-brilliant  mind.  Cutty  wrote  au- 
thoritatively on  famous  gems  and  collected  drums. 
He  had  one  of  the  finest  collections  of  chrysoprase 
in  the  world.  He  loved  these  semi-precious  stones 
because  of  their  unmatchable,  translucent  green — 


40  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

like  the  pulp  of  a  grape.  From  Burlingame  Kitty 
had  learned  that  Cutty,  rather  indifferent  to  women, 
carried  about  with  him  the  photographs — large  size 
— of  famous  professional  beauties  and  a  case  filled 
with  polished  chrysoprase.  He  would  lay  a  photo- 
graph on  a  table  and  adorn  the  lovely  throat  with 
astonishing  necklaces  and  the  head  with  wonderful 
tiaras,  all  the  while  his  brain  at  work  with  some 
intricate  political  puzzle. 

And  he  collected  drums.  The  walls  of  his  apart- 
ment— part  of  the  loft  of  a  midtown  office  building- 
were  covered  with  a  most  startling  assortment  of 
drums:  drums  of  war,  of  the  dance,  of  the  temple* 
of  the  feast,  ancient  and  modern,  some  of  them 
dreadful  looking  objects,  as  Kitty  had  cause  to  re- 
member. 

Though  Cutty  had  known  her  father  and  mother 
intimately,  Kitty  was  a  comparative  stranger.  He 
recollected  seeing  her  perhaps  a  dozen  times.  She 
had  been  a  shy  child,  not  given  to  climbing  over  visi- 
tors' knees;  not  the  precocious  offspring  of  the  aver- 
age theatrical  mother.  So  in  the  past  he  had  some- 
what overlooked  her.  Then  one  day  recently  he 
had  dropped  in  to  see  Burlingame  and  had  seen 
Kitty  instead;  which  accounts  for  his  presence  here 
this  day.  Neither  Kitty  nor  Burlingame  suspected 
the  true  attraction.  The  dramatic  editor  accepted 
the  advent  as  a  peculiar  compliment  to  himself. 
And  it  is  to  be  doubted  if  Cutty  himself  realized 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  41 

that  there  was  a  true  magnetic  pole  in  this  cubby- 
hole of  a  room. 

Kitty,  however,  had  vivid  recollections.  Actually 
the  first  strange  man  she  had  ever  met.  But  not 
having  been  visible  on  her  horizon,  except  in  flashes, 
she  knew  of  the  man  only  what  she  had  read  and 
what  Hurlingame  had  casually  offered  during  dis- 
cussions. 

"Well,  anyhow,"  said  Burlingame,  complacently, 
"the  war  is  over." 

Cutty  smiled  indulgently.  "That's  the  trouble 
with  us  chaps  who  tramp  round  the  world  for  news. 
We  can't  bamboozle  ourselves  like  you  folks  who 
stay  at  home.  The  war  was  only  the  first  phase. 
There's  a  mess  over  there;  wanting  something  and  not 
knowing  exactly  what,  those  millions;  milling  cattle, 
with  neither  shed  nor  pasture.  The  Lord  only 
knows  how  long  it  will  take  to  clarify.  Would  you 
mind  if  I  smoked?" 

"Wow!"  cried  Burlingame. 

"Not  at  all,"  answered  Kitty.  "I  don't  see 
how  any  pipe  could  be  worse  than  Mr.  Burlingame's.'' 

"I  apologize,"  said  the  dramatic  editor,  humbly. 

"You  needn't,"  replied  the  girl.  She  turned  to 
the  war  correspondent.  *  *  Any  new  drums  ? ' ' 

"I  remember  that  day.  You  were  scared  half  to 
death  at  my  walls." 

"Small  wonder!  I  was  only  twelve;  and  I 
dreamed  of  cannibals  for  weeks." 


"Drums!  I  wonder  if  any  living  man  has  heard  a 
greater  variety  than  I?  What  a  lot  of  them!  I  have 
heard  them  calling  a  jehad  hi  the  Sudan.  Tumpi- 
twm-tump!  tumpitum-famp  /  Makes  a  white  man's 
hair  stand  up  when  he  hears  it  in  the  night.  I  don't 
know  what  it  is,  but  the  sound  drives  the  Oriental 
mad.  And  that  reminds  me — I've  had  them  in 
mind  all  day — the  drums  of  jeopardy!" 

"WTiat  an  odd  phrase!  And  what  are  the  drums 
of  jeopardy?"  asked  Kitty,  leaning  on  her  arms. 
Odd,  but  suddenly  she  felt  a  longing  to  go  somewhere, 
thousands  and  thousands  of  miles  away.  She  had 
never  been  west  of  Chicago  or  east  of  Boston.  Until 
this  moment  she  had  never  felt  the  call  of  the  blood — 
her  father's.  Cocoanut  palms  and  birds  of  paradise! 
And  drums  in  the  night  going  tumpitum-famp/  tumpi- 
tum-tump! 

"I've  always  been  mad  over  green  things,"  began 
Cutty.  "A  wheat  field  in  the  spring,  leafing  maples. 
It's  Nature's  choice  and  mine.  My  passion  is  em- 
eralds; and  I  haven't  any  because  those  I  want  are 
beyond  reach.  They  are  owned  by  the  great  houses 
of  Europe  and  Asia,  and  lie  in  royal  caskets;  or  did. 
If  I  could  go  into  a  mine  and  find  an  emerald  as  big 
as  my  fist  I  should  be  only  partly  happy  if  it  chanced 
to  be  of  fine  colour.  In  a  little  while  I  should  lose  in- 
terest in  it.  It  wouldn't  be  alive,  if  you  can  get  what 
I  mean.  Just  as  a  man  would  rather  have  a  homely 
woman  to  talk  to  than  a  beautiful  window  dummy  to 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  43 

admire.  A  stone  to  interest  me  must  have  a  story— 
a  story  of  murder  and  loot,  of  beautiful  women,  pal- 
aces." 

"Br-r-r!"  cried  Burlingame. 

"Why,  I've  seen  emeralds  I  would  steal  with  half  a 
chance.  I  couldn't  help  it.  Fact,"  declared  Cutty, 
earnestly.  "Think  of  the  loot  in  the  Romanoff  pal- 
aces! What's  become  of  all  those  magnificent 
stones?  In  a  little  while  they'll  be  turning  up  in 
Amsterdam  to  be  cut — some  of  them.  Or  maybe 
Mister  Bolsheviki's  inamorata  will  be  stringing  them 
round  her  neck.  Loot." 

"But  the  drums  of  jeopardy!"  said  Kitty. 

"Emeralds,  green  as  an  English  lawn  in  May  after 
a  shower,  Kitty.  By  the  way,  do  you  mind  if  I 
call  you  Kitty?  I  used  to." 

"And  I've  always  thought  of  you  as  Cutty. 
Fifty-fifty." 

"It's  a  bargain.  Well,  the  drums  to  my  thinking 
are  the  finest  two  examples  of  the  green  beryl  in  the 
world.  Polished,  of  course,  as  emeralds  always 
should  be.  I  should  say  that  they  were  about  the 
size  of  those  peppermint  chocolate  drops  there." 

"Have  one?"  said  Kitty. 

"No.     Spoil  the  taste  of  the  pipe." 

"You  ought  to  spoil  that  taste  once  in  a  while," 
was  Burlingame's  observation.  "But  go  on  " 

"I  suppose  originally  there  was  a  single  stone, 
later  cut  into  halves,  because  they  are  perfect 


44  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

matches.  The  drums  proper  are  exquisitely  carved 
ivory  statuettes,  of  Hindu  or  Mohammedan  drum- 
mers, squatting,  the  golden  base  of  the  drums  be- 
tween the  knees,  and  the  drumheads  the  emeralds. 
Lord,  how  they  got  to  me !  I  wanted  to  run  off  with 
them.  The  history  of  murder  and  loot  they  could 
tell!  Some  Delhi  mogul  owned  them  first.  Then 
Nadir  Shah  carried  them  off  to  Persia,  along  with  the 
famous  peacock  throne.  I  saw  them  in  a  palace  on 
the  Caspian  in  1912.  Russia  was  very  strong  in 
Persia  at  one  time.  Perhaps  they  were  gifts;  per- 
haps they  were  stolen — these  emeralds.  Anyhow, 
I'd  never  heard  of  them  until  that  year.  And  I 
travelled  all  the  way  up  from  Constantinople  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  them  if  it  were  possible.  I  had  to  do 
some  mighty  fine  wire-pulling.  For  one  of  those 
stones  I  would  give  half  of  all  I  own.  To  see  them 
in  the  possession  of  another  man  would  be  a  supreme 
test  to  my  honesty." 

"You  old  pirate!"  said  Burlingarne. 

"But  why  the  word  jeopardy?"  persisted  Kitty, 
who  was  intrigued  by  the  phrase. 

"Probably  some  Hindu  trick.  It  is  a  language  of 
flowery  metaphors.  It  means,  I  suppose,  that  when 
you  touch  the  drums  they  bite.  In  journeying  from 
one  spot  to  another  they  always  leave  misfortune 
behind,  as  I  understand  it.  Just  coincidence; 
but  you  couldn't  drive  that  into  an  Oriental  skull. 
This  is  what  makes  the  study  of  precious  stones  so 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  45 

interesting.  There  is  always  some  enchantment, 
some  evil  spell.  To  handle  the  drums  is  to  invite  a 
minor  accident.  Call  it  twaddle;  probably  is;  and 
yet  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  there's  something 
to  the  superstition." 

Burlingame  sniffed. 

"I  can  prove  it,"  Cutty  declared.  "I  held  those 
drums  in  my  hands  one  day.  I  carried  them  to  a 
window  the  better  to  observe  them.  On  my  return 
to  the  hotel  I  was  knocked  down  by  a  horse  and  laid 
up  in  bed  for  a  week.  That  same  night  someone 
tried  to  kill  the  man  who  showed  me  the  emeralds. 
Coincidence?  Perhaps.  But  these  days  I'm  shying 
at  thirteen,  the  wrong  side  of  the  street,  ladders,  and 
religious  curses." 

"An  old  hard-boiled  egg  like  you?"  Burlingame 
threw  up  his  hands  in  mock  despair. 

"I  laugh,  too;  but  I  duck,  nevertheless.  The  chap 
who  showed  me  the  stones  was  what  you'd  call  the 
honorary  custodian;  a  privileged  character  because 
of  his  genius.  Before  approaching  him  I  sent  him  a 
copy  of  my  monograph  on  green  stones.  I  found 
that  he  was  quite  as  crazy  over  green  as  I.  That 
brought  us  together;  and  while  I  drew  him  out  I  kept 
wondering  where  I  had  seen  him  before.  Both  his 
name  and  his  face  were  vaguely  familiar.  It  seems  a 
superstition  had  come  along  with  the  stones,  from 
India  to  Persia,  from  there  to  Russia.  A  maid  for- 
tunate enough  to  see  the  drums  would  marry  and 


46  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

be  happy.  The  old  fellow  confessed  that  occasion- 
ally he  secretly  admitted  a  peasant  maid  to  gaze 
upon  the  stones.  But  he  never  let  the  male  inmates 
of  the  palace  find  this  out.  He  knew  them  a  little 
too  intimately.  A  bad  lot." 

"And  this  palace?  "  asked  Kitty. 

"Not  one  stone  on  another.  The  proletariat 
rose  up  and  destroyed  it.  To  mobs  anything  beau- 
tiful is  offensive.  Palaces  looted,  banks,  museums, 
houses.  The  ignorant  toying  with  hand  grenades, 
thinking  them  sceptres.  All  the  scum  in  the  world 
boiling  to  the  top.  After  the  Red  Day  comes  the 
Red  Night." 

"Whatever  will  become  of  them — the  little  kings 
and  princes  and  dukes?"  After  all,  thought  Kitty, 
they  were  human  beings;  they  would  not  suffer  any 
the  less  because  they  had  been  born  to  the  purple. 

"Maybe  they'll  go  to  work,"  said  Cutty,  dryly. 
"Sooner  or  later,  all  parasites  will  have  to  work  if 
they  want  bread.  And  yet  I've  met  some  men 
among  them,  big  in  the  heart  and  the  mind,  who 
would  have  made  bully  farmers  and  professors. 
The  beautiful  thing  about  the  Anglo-Saxon  education 
is  that  the  whole  structure  is  based  upon  fair  play. 
In  eastern  and  southeastern  Europe  few  of  them 
can  play  solitaire  without  cheating.  But  I  would 
give  a  good  deal  to  know  what  has  happened  to  those 
emeralds — the  drums  of  jeopardy.  They'll  probably 
be  broken  up  and  sold  in  carat  weights.  The  whole 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  47 

family  was  wiped  out  in  a  night.  ...  I  say,  wfll 
you  take  lunch  with  me  to-morrow?  " 

"Gladly." 

"All  right.  I'll  drop  in  here  at  half  after  twelve. 
Here's  my  telephone  number,  should  anything  alter 
your  plan's.  If  I'm  going  to  be  godfather  I  might  as 
well  start  right  in." 

"  The  drums  of  jeopardy ;  what  a  haunting  phrase !" 

"Haunting  stones,  too,  Kitty.  For  picking  them 
up  in  my  hands  I  went  to  bed  with  a  banged-up 
leg.  I  can't  forget  that.  We  Occidentals  laugh  at 
Orientals  and  their  superstitions.  We  don't  believe 
in  the  curse.  And  yet,  by  George,  those  emeralds 
were  accursed!" 

"Piffle!"  snorted  Burlingame.  "Mush!  It's 
greed,  pure  and  simple,  that  gives  precious  stones 
their  sinister  histories.  You'd  have  been  hit  by 
that  horse  if  you  had  picked  up  nothing  more  valu- 
able than  a  rhinestone  buckle.  Take  away  the  gold 
lure,  and  precious  stones  wouldn't  sell  at  the  price 
of  window  glass." 

"Is  that  so?  How  about  me?  It  isn't  because  a 
stone  is  worth  so  much  that  makes  me  want  it.  I 
want  it  for  the  sheer  beauty;  I  want  it  for  the  tre- 
mendous panorama  the  sight  of  it  unfolds  in  my  mind. 
I  imagine  what  happened  from  the  hour  the  stone 
was  mined  to  the  hour  it  came  into  my  possession. 
To  me — to  all  genuine  collectors — the  intrinsic 
value  is  nil.  Can't  you  see?  It  is  for  me  what  Bal- 


48  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

zae's  La  Peau  de  Chagrin  would  be  to  you  if  you 
had  fallen  on  it  for  the  first  time — money,  love,  trag- 
edy, death." 

An  interruption  came  in  the  form  of  one  of  the 
office  boys.  The  chief  was  on  the  wire  and  wanted 
Cutty  at  once. 

"At  half  after  twelve,  Kitty.  And  by  the  way," 
added  Cutty  as  he  rose,  "they  say  about  the  drums 
that  a  beautiful  woman  is  immune  to  their  danger." 

"There's  your  chance,  Kitty,"  said  Burlingame. 

"Am  I  beautiful?"  asked  Kitty,  demurely. 

" Lord  love  the  minx ! "  shouted  Cutty.  "A  corner 
in  Mouquin's." 

"Rain  or  shine."  After  Cutty  had  departed 
Kitty  said:  "He's  the  most  fascinating  man  I  know. 
What  fun  it  would  be  to  jog  round  the  world  with  a 
man  like  that,  who  knew  everybody  and  everything. 
As  a  little  girl  I  was  violently  in  love  with  him; 
but  don't  you  ever  dare  give  me  away." 

"You'll  probably  have  nightmare  to-night.  And 
honestly  you  ought  not  to  live  in  that  den  alone. 
But  Cutty  has  seen  things,"  Burlingame  admitted; 
"things  no  white  man  ought  to  see.  He's  been  shot 
up,  mauled  by  animals,  marooned,  torpedoed  at  sea, 
made  prisoner  by  old  Fuzzy -Wuzzy.  An  ordinary 
man  would  have  died  of  fatigue.  Cutty  is  as  tough 
and  strong  as  a  gorilla  and  as  active  as  a  cat.  But 
this  jewel  superstition  is  all  rot.  Odd,  though;  he'll 
travel  halfway  round  the  world  to  see  a  ruby  or  an 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  49 

emerald.  He  says  no  true  collector  cares  a  cent  for 
a  diamond.  Says  they  are  vulgar." 

"Except  on  the  third  finger  of  a  lady's  left  hand; 
and  then  they  are  just  perfectly  splendid! " 

"Oho!  Well,  when  you  get  yours  I  hope  it's  as 
big  as  the  Koh-i-noor." 

"Thank  you!  You  might  just  as  well  wish  a  brick 
on  me!" 

Kitty  left  the  office  at  a  quarter  of  six.  The  phrase 
kept  running  through  her  head — the  drums  of 
jeopardy.  A  little  shiver  ran  up  her  spine.  Money, 
love,  tragedy,  death!  This  terrible  and  wonderful 
old  world,  of  which  she  had  seen  little  else  than  city 
streets,  suddenly  exhibited  wide  vistas.  She  knew 
now  why  she  had  begun  to  save — travel.  Just  as 
soon  as  she  had  a  thousand  she  would  go  somewhere. 
A  great  longing  to  hear  native  drums  in  the  night. 

Even  as  the  wish  entered  her  mind  a  new  sound 
entered  her  ears.  The  Subway  car  wheels  began  to 
beat — tumpitum-famp  /  tumpitum-tump  I 

Fudge!  She  opened  her  evening  paper  and 
scanned  the  fashions,  the  dramatic  news,  and  the 
comics.  Being  a  woman  she  read  the  world  news 
last.  On  the  front  page  she  saw  a  queer  story,  dated 
at  Albany:  Mysterious  guests  at  a  hotel;  how  they 
had  fought  and  fled  in  the  early  morning.  There 
had  been  left  behind  a  case  with  foreign  orders  in- 
crusted  with  several  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  gems. 
Bolsheviki,  said  the  police;  just  as  they  said  auto 


50  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

bandits  a  few  years  ago  when  confronted  with  some- 
thing they  could  not  understand.  The  orders  had 
been  turned  over  to  the  Federal  authorities  from 
whom  it  was  learned  that  they  were  all  royal  and 
demi-royal.  Neither  of  the  two  guests  had  returned 
up  to  noon,  and  one  had  fled,  leaving  even  his  hat 
and  coat.  But  there  was  nothing  to  indicate  his 
identity. 

"Loot!"  murmured  Kitty.  "All  the  scum  in  the 
world  rising  to  the  top" — quoting  Cutty.  "Poor 
things!"  as  she  thought  of  the  gentle  ladies  who  had 
died  horribly  in  bedrooms  and  cellars. 

Kitty  was  beginning  to  cast  about  for  more  con- 
genial quarters.  There  were  too  many  foreigners 
in  the  apartments,  and  none  of  them  especially  good 
housekeepers.  Always,  nowadays,  somebody  had  a 
washing  out  on  the  line,  the  odour  of  garlic  was  con- 
tinuously in  the  air,  and  there  were  noisy  children 
under  foot  in  the  halls.  The  families  she  and  her 
mother  had  known  were  all  gone;  and  Kitty  was  per- 
haps the  oldest  inhabitant  in  the  block. 

The  living-room  windows  faced  Eightieth  Street; 
bedrooms,  dining  room,  and  kitchen  looked  out  upon 
the  court.  From  the  latter  windows  one  could  step 
out  upon  the  fire-escape  platform,  which  ran  round 
the  three  sides  of  the  court. 

Among  the  present  tenants  she  knew  but  one, 
an  old  man  by  the  name  of  Gregory,  who  lived  oppo- 
site. The  acquaintance  had  never  ripened  into 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  51 

friendship;  but  sometimes  Kitty  would  borrow  an 
egg  and  he  would  borrow  some  sugar.  In  the  sum- 
mertime, when  the  windows  were  open  at  night,  she 
had  frequently  heard  the  music  of  a  violin  swimming 
across  the  court.  Polish,  Russian,  and  Hungarian 
music,  always  speaking  with  a  tragic  note;  nothing 
she  had-  ever  heard  in  concerts.  Once,  however, 
she  had  heard  him  begin  something  from  Thais, 
and  stop  in  the  middle  of  it;  and  that  convinced  her 
that  he  was  a  master.  She  was  fond  of  good  music. 
One  day  she  asked  Gregory  why  he  did  not  teach 
music  instead  of  valeting  at  a  hotel.  His  answer 
had  been  illuminative.  It  was  only  his  body  that 
pressed  clothes;  but  it  would  have  torn  his  soul  to 
listen  daily  to  the  agonized  bow  of  the  novice. 

Kitty  was  lonely  through  pride  as  much  as  any- 
thing. As  for  friends,  she  had  a  regiment  of  them. 
But  she  rarely  accepted  their  hospitality,  realizing 
that  she  could  not  return  it.  No  young  men  called 
because  she  never  invited  them.  All  this,  however, 
was  going  to  change  when  she  moved. 

As  she  turned  on  the  hall  light  she  saw  an  en- 
velope on  the  floor.  Evidently  it  had  been  shoved 
under  the  door.  It  was  unstamped.  She  opened  it, 
and  stepped  out  of  the  humdrum  into  the  whirligig. 

DEAR  Miss  CONOVER: 

If  anything  should  happen  to  me  all  the  things  in  my  apart* 
ment  I  give  to  you  without  reservation. 

STEPHEN  GREGORY. 


52  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

She  read  the  letter  a  dozen  times  to  make  sure  that 
it  meant  exactly  what  it  said.  He  might  be  ill. 
After  she  had  cooked  her  supper  she  would  run  round 
and  inquire.  The  poor  lonely  old  man ! 

She  went  into  the  kitchen  and  took  inventory. 
There  was  nothing  but  bacon  and  eggs  and  coffee. 
She  had  forgotten  to  order  that  morning.  She  lit 
the  gas  range  and  began  to  prepare  the  meal.  As 
she  broke  an  egg  against  the  rim  of  the  pan  the  near- 
by Elevated  tram  rushed  by,  drumming  tumpitum- 
tumpl  tumpitum-fwmp/  She  laughed,  but  it  wasn't 
honest  laughter.  She  laughed  because  she  was  con- 
scious that  she  was  afraid  of  something.  Impulse 
drove  her  to  the  window.  Contact  with  men — her 
unusual  experiences  as  a  reporter — had  developed 
her  natural  fearlessness  to  a  point  where  it  was  ag- 
gressive. As  she  pressed  the  tip  of  her  nose  against 
the  pane,  however,  she  found  herself  gazing  squarely 
into  a  pair  of  exceedingly  brilliant  dark  eyes;  and  all 
the  blood  in  her  body  seemed  to  rush  violently  into 
her  throat. 

Tableau! 


CHAPTER  V 

KITTY  gasped,  but  she  did  not  cry  out.  The 
five  days'  growth  of  blondish  stubble,  the 
discoloured  eye — for  all  the  orb  itself  was 
brilliant — and  the  hawky  nose  combined  to  send 
through  her  the  first  great  thrill  of  danger  she  had 
ever  known. 

Slowly  she  backed  away  from  the  window.  The 
man  outside  immediately  extended  his  hands  with  a, 
gesture  that  a  child  would  have  understood.  Sup- 
plication. Kitty  paused,  naturally.  But  did  the 
man  mean  it?  Might  it  not  be  some  trick  to  lure  her 
into  opening  the  window?  And  what  was  he  doing 
outside  there  anyhow?  Her  mind,  freed  from  the 
initial  hypnosis  of  the  encounter,  began  to  work 
quickly.  If  she  ran  from  the  kitchen  to  call  for  help 
he  might  be  gone  when  she  returned,  only  to  coim 
back  when  she  was  again  alone. 

Once  more  the  man  executed  that  gesture,  his 
palms  upward.  It  was  Latin;  she  was  aware  of  that, 
for  she  was  always  encountering  it  in  the  halls.  An- 
other gesture.  She  understood  this  also.  The  tips 
of  the  fingers  bunched  and  dabbed  at  the  lips.  She 
had  seen  Italian  children  make  the  gesture  and  cry: 
"Ho  fame!"  Hungry.  But  she  could  not  let  him 

53 


54  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

into  the  kitchen.  Still,  if  he  were  honestly  hungry 
She  had  it! 

In  the  kitchen-table  drawer  was  an  imitation  re- 
volver— press  the  trigger,  and  a  fluted  fan  was  re- 
vealed— a  dance  favour  she  had  received  during  the 
winter. 

She  plucked  it  out  of  the  drawer  and  walked 
bravely  to  the  window,  which  she  threw  up. 

"What  do  you  want?  What  are  you  doing  out 
there  on  the  fire  escape?'*  she  instantly  demanded 
to  know. 

"My  word,  I  am  hungry!  I  was  looking  out  of 
the  window  across  the  way  and  saw  you  preparing 
your  dinner.  A  bit  of  bread  and  a  glass  of  milk. 
Would  you  mind,  I  wonder?" 

"Why  didn't  you  come  to  the  door  then?  What 
window?"  Kitty  was  resolute;  once  she  embarked 
upon  an  enterprise. 

"That  one." 

"Where  is  Mr.  Gregory?"  Kitty  recalled  that  odd 
letter. 

"Gregory?  I  should  very  much  like  to  know. 
I  have  come  many  miles  to  see  him.  He  sent  me  a 
duplicate  key.  There  was  not  even  a  crust  in  the 
cupboard." 

Gregory  away?  That  letter!  Something  had 
happened  to  that  poor,  kindly  old  man.  "Why  did 
you  not  seek  some  restaurant?  Or  have  you  no 
money?" 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  55 

"I  have  plenty.  I  was  afraid  that  I  might  not  be 
able  conveniently  to  return.  I  am  a  stranger.  My 
actions  might  be  viewed  with  suspicion." 

"Indeed!     Describe  Mr.  Gregory." 

Not  of  the  clinging  kind,  evidently,  he  thought. 
A  raving  beauty — Diana  domesticated! 

"It  is  four  years  since  I  saw  him.  He  was  then 
gray,  dapper,  and  erect.  A  mole  on  his  chin,  which 
he  rubs  when  he  talks.  He  is  a  valet  in  one  of  the 
fashionable  hotels.  He  is — or  was — the  only  true 
friend  I  have  in  New  York." 

*  *  Was  ?     What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"I'm  afraid  something  has  happened  to  him.  I 
found  his  bedroom  things  tossed  about." 

"What  could  possibly  happen  to  a  harmless  old 
man  like  Mr.  Gregory?" 

"Pardon  me,  but  your  egg  is  burning!" 

Kitty  wheeled  and  lifted  off  the  pan,  choking  in 
the  smother  of  smoke.  She  came  right-about  face 
swiftly  enough.  The  man  had  not  moved;  and 
that  decided  her. 

"Come  in.  I  will  give  you  something  to  eat. 
Sit  in  that  chair  by  the  window,  and  be  careful 
not  to  stir  from  it.  I'm  a  good  shot,"  lied  Kitty, 
truculently.  "Frankly,  I  do  not  like  the  looks  of 
this." 

"I  do  look  like  a  burglar,  what?"  He  sat  down  in 
the  chair  meekly.  Food  and  a  human  being  to  talk 
to]  A  lovely,  self-reliant  American  girl,  able  to  takd 


56  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

care  of  herself.  Magnificent  eyes — slate  blue,  with 
thick,  velvety  black  lashes.  Irish. 

In  a  moment  Kitty  had  three  eggs  and  half  a  dozen 
strips  of  bacon  frying  in  a  fresh  pan.  She  kept  one 
eye  upon  the  pan  and  the  other  upon  the  intruder, 
risking  strabismus.  At  length  she  transferred  the 
contents  of  the  pan  to  a  plate,  backed  to  the  ice  chest, 
and  reached  for  a  bottle  of  milk.  She  placed  the 
food  at  the  far  end  of  the  table  and  retreated  a  few 
steps,  her  arms  crossed  in  such  a  way  as  to  keep  the 
revolver  in  view. 

"Please  do  not  be  afraid  of  me." 

"What  makes  you  think  I  am?" 

"Any  woman  would  be." 

Kitty  saw  that  he  was  actually  hungry,  and  her 
suspicions  began  to  ebb.  He  hadn't  lied  about 
that.  And  he  ate  like  a  gentleman.  Young,  not 
more  than  thirty;  possibly  less.  But  that  dreadful 
stubble  and  that  black  eye!  The  clothes  would  have 
passed  muster  on  any  fashionable  golf  links.  A  fugi- 
tive? From  what? 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  setting  down  the  empty 
milk  bottle. 

"Your  accent  is  English." 

"Which  is  to  say?" 

"That  your  gestures  are  Italian." 

"My  mother  was  Italian.  But  what  makes  you 
believe  I  am  not  English?" 

"An  Englishman — or  an  American,  for  that  mat* 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  57 

ter — with  money  in  his  pocket  would  have  gone  into 
the  street  in  search  of  a  restaurant." 

"You  are  right.  The  fundamentals  of  the  blood 
will  always  crop  out.  You  can  educate  the  brain 
but  not  the  blood.  I  am  not  an  Englishman;  I 
merely  received  my  education  at  Oxford." 

"A  fugitive,  however,  of  any  blood  might  have 
come  to  my  window." 

"Yes;  I  am  a  fugitive,  pursued  by  the  god  of 
Irony.  And  Irony  is  never  particular;  the  chase  is 
the  thing.  What  matters  it  whether  the  quarry 
be  wolf  or  sheep?'* 

Kitty  was  impressed  by  the  bitterness  of  the  tone. 
"What  is  your  name?" 

"John  Hawksley." 

"But  that  is  English!" 

"I  should  not  care  to  call  myself  Two-Hawks,  lit- 
erally. It  would  be  embarrassing.  So  I  call  myself 
Hawksley." 

A  pause.  Kitty  wondered  what  new  impetus  she 
might  give  to  the  conversation,  which  was  interesting 
her  despite  her  distrust. 

"How  did  you  come  by  that  black  eye?"  she  asked 
with  embarrassing  directness. 

Hawksley  smiled,  revealing  beautifully  white 
teeth.  "I  say,  it  is  a  bit  off,  isn't  it!  I  received  it" 
— a  twinkle  coming  into  his  eyes — "in  a  situation 
that  had  moribund  perspectives.'5 

"Moribund  perspectives,"  repeated  Kitty,  casting 


58  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

the  phrase  about  in  her  mind  in  search  of  an  equiva- 
lent less  academic. 

"I  am  young  and  healthy,  and  I  wanted  to  live," 
he  said,  gravely.  "I  am  curious  to  know  what  is 
going  to  happen  to-morrow  and  other  to-morrows." 

Somewhere  near  by  a  door  was  slammed  violently. 
Kitty,  every  muscle  in  her  body  tense,  jumped  con- 
vulsively, with  the  result  that  her  finger  pressed  auto- 
matically the  trigger  of  her  pistol.  The  fan  popped 
out  gayly. 

Hawksley  stared  at  the  fan,  quite  as  astonished  as 
Kitty.  Then  he  broke  into  low,  rollicking  laughter, 
which  Kitty,  because  her  basic  corpuscle  was  Irish, 
perforce  had  to  join.  For  all  her  laughter  she  re- 
treated, furious  and  alarmed. 

"Fancy!  I  say,  now,  you're  jolly  plucky  to  face  a 
scoundrel  like  me  with  that." 

"I  don't  just  know  what  to  make  of  you,"  said 
Kitty,  irresolutely,  flinging  the  fan  into  a  corner. 

"You  have  revivified  a  celestial  spark — my  faith 
in  human  beings.  I  beg  of  you  not  to  be  afraid  of  me. 
I  am  quite  harmless.  I  am  very  grateful  for  the 
meal.  Yours  is  the  one  act  of  kindness  I  have  known 
in  weeks.  I  will  return  to  Gregor's  apartment  at 
once.  But  before  I  go  please  accept  this.  I  rather 
suspect,  you  know,  that  you  live  alone,  and  that  fan 
is  amusing  and  not  particularly  suitable." 

He  rose  and  unsmilingly  laid  upon  the  table  one 
of.  those  heavy  blue-black  bull-dogs  of  war,  a  regula- 


59 

tion  revolver.  Kitty  understood  what  this  courteous 
act  signified;  he  was  disarming  himself  to  reassure Jher. 

"Sit  down,"  she  ordered.  Either  he  was  harmless 
or  he  wasn't.  If  he  wasn't  she  was  utterly  at  his 
mercy.  She  might  be  able  to  lift  that  terrible- 
looking  engine  of  murder,  battle,  and  sudden  death 
with  the  aid  of  both  hands,  but  to  aim  and  fire  it — 
never  in  this  world!  "As  I  came  in  to-night  I  found 
a  note  in  the  hall  from  Mr.  Gregory.  I  will  fetch  it. 
But  you  call  him  Gregor?  " 

"His  name  is  Stefani  Gregor;  and  years  and  years 
ago  he  dandled  me  on  his  knees.  I  promise  not  to 
move  until  you  return." 

Subdued  by  she  knew  not  what,  no  longer  afraid, 
Kitty  moved  out  of  the  kitchen.  She  had  offered 
Gregory's  letter  as  an  excuse  to  reach  the  telephone. 
Once  there,  however,  she  did  not  take  the  receiver 
off  the  hook.  Instead  she  whistled  down  the  tube 
for  the  janitor. 

"This  is  Miss  Conover.  Come  up  to  my  apart- 
ment in  ten  minutes.  .  .  .  No;  it's  not  the  water 
pipes.  ...  In  ten  minutes  " 

Nothing  very  serious  could  happen  inside  of  ten 
minutes;  and  the  janitor  was  reliable  and  not  the 
sort  one  reads  about  in  the  comic  weeklies.  Her 
confidence  reenforced  by  the  knowledge  that  a  friend 
was  near,  she  took  the  letter  into  the  kitchen.  Ap- 
parently her  unwelcome  guest  had  not  stirred.  The 
revolver  was  where  he  had  laid  it. 


60  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Read  this,"  she  said. 

The  visitor  glanced  through  it.  "It  is  Gregor'tf 
hand.  Poor  old  chap!  I  shall  never  forgive  my-» 
self." 

"For  what?" 

"For  dragging  him  into  this.  They  must  have 
intercepted  one  of  my  telegrams."  He  stared  de- 
jectedly at  the  strip  of  oilcloth  in  front  of  the  range. 
"You  are  an  American?" 

"Yes." 

"God  has  been  exceedingly  kind  to  your  country. 
I  doubt  if  you  will  ever  know  how  kind.  I'll  take 
myself  off.  No  sense  in  compromising  you."  He 
laid  a  folded  handkerchief  inside  his  cap  which  he  put 
on.  "Know  anything  about  this?" — indicating  the 
revolver. 

"Nothing  whatever." 

"Permit  me  to  show  you.  It  is  loaded;  there  are 
five  bullets  in  the  clip.  See  this  little  latch?  So,  it 
is  harmless.  So,  and  you  kill  with  it." 

"It  is  horrible!"  cried  Kitty.  "Take  it  with 
you  please.  I  could  not  keep  my  eyes  open  to 
shoot  it." 

"These  are  troublous  times.  All  women  should 
know  something  about  small  arms.  Again  I  thank 
you.  For  your  own  sake  I  trust  that  we  may  never 
meet  again.  Good-bye."  He  stepped  out  of  the 
window  and  vanished. 

Kitty,  at  a  mental  impasse,  could  only  stare  into 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  61 

the  night  beyond  the  window.  This  mesmeric  state 
endured  for  a  minute;  then  a  gentle  and  continuous 
sound  dissipated  the  spell.  It  was  raining.  Ob- 
liquely she  saw  the  burnt  egg  in  the  pan.  The  thing 
had  happened;  she  had  not  been  dreaming. 

Her  brain  awoke.  Thought  crowded  thought; 
before  one*  matured  another  displaced  it;  and  all  as 
futile  as  the  sparks  from  the  anvil.  An  avalanche 
of  conjecture;  and  out  of  it  all  eventually  emerged 
one  concrete  fact.  The  man  was  honest.  His 
hunger  had  been  honest;  his  laughter.  Who  was  he, 
what  was  he?  For  all  his  speech,  not  English;  for 
all  his  gestures,  not  Italian.  Moribund  perspectives. 
Somewhere  that  day  he  had  fought  for  his  life.  John 
Two-Hawks. 

And  there  was  the  mysterious  evanishment  of 
old  Gregory,  whose  name  was  Stefani  Gregor.  In  a 
humdrum,  prosaic  old  apartment  like  this! 

Kitty  had  ideas  about  adventure — an  inheritance, 
though  she  was  not  aware  of  that.  There  had  to  be 
certain  ingredients,  principally  mystery.  Anything 
sordid  must  not  be  permitted  to  edge  in.  She  had 
often  gone  forth  upon  semi-perilous  enterprises  as  a 
reporter,  entered  sinister  houses  where  crimes  had 
been  committed,  but  always  calculating  how  much 
copy  at  eight  dollars  a  column  could  be  squeezed  out 
of  the  affair.  But  this  promised  to  be  something 
like  those  tales  which  were  always  clear  and  wonder- 
ful in  her  head  but  more  or  less  opaque  when  she 


62  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

attempted  to  transfer  them  to  paper.  A  secret 
society?  Vengeance?  An  echo  of  the  war? 

"Johnny  Two-Hawks,"  she  murmured  aloud. 
"And  he  hopes  we'll  never  meet  again!" 

There  was  a  mirror  over  the  sink,  and  she  threw  a 
glance  into  it.  Very  well;  if  he  thought  like  that 
about  it. 

Here  the  doorbell  tinkled.  That  would  be  the 
faithful  janitor.  She  ran  to  the  door. 

"Whadjuh  wanta  see  me  about,  Miz  Conover?" 

"What  has  happened  to  old  Mr.  Gregory?" 

"Him?  Why,  some  amb'lance  fellers  carted  him 
off  this  afternoon.  Didn't  know  nawthin'  was  the 
matter  with  'im  until  I  runs  into  them  in  the  hall." 

"He'd  been  hurt?" 

"Couldn't  say,  miz.  He  was  on  a  stretcher  when 
I  seen  'im.  Under  a  sheet." 

"But  he  might  have  been  dead!" 

"Nope.  I  ast  'em,  an'  they  said  a  shock  of  some 
sort." 

"What  hospital?'* 

"Gee,  I  forgot  fast  that!" 

"I'll  find  out.     Good-night." 

But  Kitty  did  not  find  out.  She  called  up  all  the 
known  private  and  public  hospitals,  but  no  Gregor 
or  Gregory  had  been  received  that  afternoon,  nor 
anybody  answering  his  description.  The  fog  had 
swallowed  up  Stefani  Gregor. 


CHAPTER  VI 

f  •  "HHE  reportorial  instinct  in  Kitty  Conover, 
combined  with  her  natural  feminine  curi- 

_M.  osity,  impelled  her  to  seek  to  the  bottom  of 
this  affair.  Her  newspaper  was  as  far  from  her 
thoughts  as  the  poles;  simply  a  paramount  desire 
to  translate  the  incomprehensible  into  sequence  and 
consequence.  Harmless  old  Gregor's  disappearance 
and  the  advent  of  John  Two-Hawks — the  absurdity 
of  that  name! — with  his  impeccable  English  accent, 
his  Latin  gestures,  and  his  black  eye,  convinced  her 
that  it  was  political;  an  electrical  cross  current  out 
of  that  broken  world  over  there.  Moribund  per- 
spectives. What  did  that  signify  save  that  Johnny 
Two-Hawks  had  fought  somewhere  that  day  for  his 
life?  Had  Gregor  been  spirited  away  so  as  to  leave 
Two-Hawks  without  support,  to  confuse  and  dis- 
courage him  and  break  down  his  powers  of  resist- 
ance? Or  had  there  been  something  of  great  value 
in  the  Gregor  apartment,  and  Johnny  Two-Hawks 
had  come  too  late  to  save  his  friend? 

A  word  slipped  into  her  mind  like  a  whiff  of  mi- 
asma off  an  evil  swamp.  As  she  recognized  the  word 
she  felt  the  same  horror  and  repugnance  one  senses 


64  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

upon  being  unexpectedly  confronted  by  a  cobra. 
Internationalism.  The  scum  of  the  world  boiling 
to  the  top.  A  half -blind  viper  striking  venomously 
at  everything — even  itself!  A  destroyer  who  tore 
down  but  who  knew  not  how  or  what  to  build. 
Kitty  knew  that  lower  New  York  was  seething  with 
this  species  of  terrorism — thousands  of  noisome 
European  rats  trying  to  burrow  into  the  granary  of 
democracy.  But  she  had  no  particular  fear  of  the 
result.  The  reacting  chemicals  of  American  humour 
and  common  sense  would  neutralize  that  virus.  Sup- 
posing a  ripple  from  this  indecent  eddy  had  touched  her 
feet?  The  torch  of  liberty  in  the  hands  of  Anarch! 
Johnny  Two-Hawks.  Somehow — even  if  she  never 
saw  him  again — she  knew  she  would  always  remem- 
ber him  by  that  name.  Phases  of  the  encounter 
began  to  return.  Fine  hands;  perhaps  he  painted 
or  played.  The  oblong  head  of  well-balanced  men- 
tality. A  pleasant  voice.  Breeding.  To  be  sure, 
he  had  laughed  at  that  fan  popping  out.  Anybody 
would  have  laughed.  Never  had  she  felt  so  idiotic. 
He  had  gravely  expressed  the  hope  that  they  might 
never  meet  again  because  his  life  was  in  danger. 
What  danger?  Conceivably  the  enmity  of  a  soci- 
ety— internationalism.  The  word  having  found 
lodgment  in  her  thoughts  took  root.  International- 
ism— Utopia  while  you  wait!  Anarchism  and  Bol- 
shevism offering  nostrums  for  humanity's  ills!  And 
there  were  sane  men  who  defended  the  cult  on  the 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  65 

basis  that  the  intention  was  honest.  Who  can  say 
that  the  rattlesnake  does  not  consider  his  intentions 
honourable? 

The  attribute  lacking  in  the  ape  to  make  him  hu- 
man is  continuity  of  thought  and  action  in  all  things 
save  one.  He  often  starts  out  well  but  he  never 
arrives.  His  interest  is  never  sustained.  He  drops 
one  thing  and  turns  to  another.  The  exception  is 
his  enmity,  savage  and  cunning,  relentless  and  en- 
during. 

Kitty  was  awake  to  one  fact.  She  could  not 
venture  to  dig  into  this  affair  alone.  On  the  other 
hand,  she  did  not  want  one  of  the  men  from  the 
city  room — a  reporter  who  would  see  nothing  but 
news.  If  Gregor  was  only  a  prisoner  publicity  might 
be  the  cause  of  his  death;  and  publicity  would  cer- 
tainly react  hardily  against  Johnny  Two-Hawks. 
To  whom  might  she  turn? 

Cutty! — with  his  great  physical  strength,  his 
shrewd  and  alert  mentality,  and  his  wide  knowledge 
of  peoples  and  tongues.  There  was  the  man  for  her 
— Kitty  Conover's  godfather.  She  dumped  the 
contents  of  her  handbag  upon  the  stand  in  the  hall- 
way in  her  impatience  to  find  Cutty's  card  with  his 
telephone  number.  It  was  not  in  the  directory. 
She  might  catch  him  before  he  went  out  for  the 
evening. 

A  Japanese  voice  answered  her  call. 

"'Scuse,  but  he  iss  out." 


66  The  Drams  of  Jeopardy 

Where?" 

"No  tell  me." 

"How  long  has  he  been  gone?" 

"'Scuse!" 

Kitty  heard  the  click  of  the  receiver  as  it  went 
down  upon  the  hook.  But  she  wasn't  the  daughter 
of  Conover  for  nothing.  She  called  up  the  Univer- 
sity Club.  No.  The  Harvard  Club.  No.  The 
Players,  the  Lambs;  and  in  the  latter  club  she  found 
him. 

"Who  is  it?"     Cutty  spoke  impatiently. 

"Kitty  Conover." 

"Oh!  What's  the  matter?  Can't  you  have 
lunch  with  me?" 

"Something  very  strange  is  happening  in  this 
old  apartment  house,  Cutty.  I'm  afraid  it  is  a  mat- 
ter of  life  and  death.  Otherwise  I  shouldn't  have 
bothered  you.  Can  you  come  up  right  away?" 

"As  soon  as  a  taxi  can  take  me!" 

"Thanks." 

Kitty  then  went  through  the  apartment  and  turned 
out  all  the  lights.  Next  she  drew  up  a  chair  to  the 
kitchen  window  and  sat  down  to  watch.  All  was 
dark  across  the  way.  But  there  was  nothing  singu- 
lar in  this  fact.  Johnny  Two-Hawks  would  have 
sense  enough  to  realize  that  it  would  be  safer  to 
move  about  in  the  dark.  It  was  even  probable 
that  he  was  lying  down. 

Tumpitum-tump !     Tumpitum-tump  !     went    the 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  67 

racing  Elevated;  and  Kitty's  heart  raced  along  with 
it.  Queer  how  the  echo  of  Cutty's  description  of 
the  drums  calling  a  jehad — a  holy  war — should  adapt 
itself  to  that  Elevated.  Drums!  Perhaps  the  echo 
clung  because  she  had  been  interested  beyond  meas- 
ure in  his  tale  of  those  two  emeralds,  the  drums  of 
jeopardy.  Mobs  sacking  palaces  and  museums 
and  banks  and  homes;  all  the  scum  of  the  world  boil- 
ing to  the  top;  the  Red  Night  that  wasn't  over. 

She  uttered  a  shaky  little  laugh.  She  would  tell 
Cutty.  The  real  drums  of  jeopardy  weren't  emer- 
alds but  the  roll  of  warning  that  prescience  taps  upon 
the  spine,  the  occult  sense  of  impending  danger. 
That  was  why  the  Elevated  went  tumpitum-fump/ 
tumpitum-tump!  She  would  tell  Cutty.  The  drums 
of  fear. 

He  over  there  and  she  here,  in  darkness;  both  of 
them  waiting  for  something  to  happen;  and  the  in- 
visible drumsticks  beating  the  tattoo  of  fear.  If  he 
were  in  her  thoughts  might  not  she  be  a  little  in  his? 
She  stood  up.  She  would  do  it.  Convention  in  a 
moment  like  this  was  nonsense.  Hadn't  he  kept 
his  side  of  the  line  scrupulously? 

Nonchalance.  It  occurred  to  her  for  the  first 
time  that  there  must  be  good  material  in  a  man  who 
could  come  through  in  a  contest  with  death,  non- 
chalant. She  would  fetch  him  and  have  him  here 
to  meet  Cutty,  this  rather  forlorn  Johnny  Two- 
Hawks,  with  his  unshaven  face,  his  black  eye,  and  his 


68  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

nonchalance.  She  would  fetch  him  at  once.  It 
would  save  a  good  deal  of  time. 

There  were  but  ten  apartments  in  the  building, 
two  on  a  floor.  The  living  room  formed  an  L. 
Kitty's  buttressed  Gregor's.  The  elevator  shaft 
was  inside,  facing  the  court;  and  the  stair  head  was 
on  the  Gregor  side  of  the  elevator.  The  two  en- 
trances faced  each  other  across  the  landing. 

As  Kitty  opened  her  door  to  step  outside  she  was 
nonplussed  to  see  two  men  issue  cautiously  from  the 
Gregor  door.  The  moment  they  espied  her,  how- 
ever, there  was  a  mad  rush  for  the  stair  head.  She 
could  hear  the  thud  of  their  feet  all  the  way  down  to 
the  ground  floor;  and  every  footfall  seemed  to  touch 
her  heart.  One  of  them  carried  a  bundle. 

She  breathed  quickly,  and  she  knew  that  she 
was  afraid.  Neither  man  was  Johnny  Two-Hawks. 
Something  dreadful  had  happened;  she  was  sure 
of  it.  Reenforcing  her  sinking  courage  with  nerve 
energy  she  ran  across  to  the  Gregor  door  and  knocked. 
No  answer.  She  knocked  again;  then  she  tried  the 
door.  Locked.  The  flutter  in  her  breast  died 
away;  she  became  quite  calm.  She  was  going  to 
enter  this  apartment  by  the  way  of  the  fire  escape. 
The  window  he  had  come  out  of  was  still  up.  She 
had  made  note  of  this  from  the  kitchen.  In  return- 
ing he  had  stepped  on  to  the  springe  of  a  snare. 

She  hurried  back  to  her  kitchen  for  the  automatic. 
She  hadn't  the  least  idea  how  to  manipulate  it;  but 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  69 

she  was  no  longer  afraid  of  it.  Bravely  she  stepped 
out  on  to  the  fire  escape.  To  reach  her  objective 
she  had  to  walk  under  the  ladder.  Danger  often 
puts  odd  irrelevancies  into  the  human  brain.  As  she 
moved  forward  she  wondered  if  there  was  anything 
in  the  superstition  regarding  ladders. 

When  she  reached  the  window  she  leaned  against 
the  brick  wall  and  listened.  ^Silence;  an  ominous 
silence.  The  window  was  open,  the  curtain  up. 
Within,  what?  For  as  long  as  five  minutes  she 
waited,  then  she  climbed  in. 

Now  as  this  bedroom  was  a  counterpart  of  her  own 
she  knew  where  the  light  button  would  be.  She 
might  stumble  over  a  chair  or  two,  but  in  the  end 
she  would  find  the  light.  The  fingers  of  one  hand 
spread  out  before  her  and  the  other  clutching  the 
impossible  automatic,  she  succeeded  in  navigating 
the  uncharted  reefs  of  an  unfamiliar  room.  She 
blinked  for  a  moment  after  throwing  on  the  light, 
and  stood  with  her  back  to  the  wall,  the  automatic 
wabbling  at  nothing  in  particular.  The  room  was 
empty  so  far  as  she  could  see.  There  was  evidence 
of  a  physical  encounter,  but  she  could  not  tell  whether 
it  was  due  to  the  former  or  to  the  latter  invasion. 

Where  was  he?  From  where  she  stood  she  could 
not  see  the  floor  on  the  far  side  of  the  bed.  Timidly 
she  walked  past  the  foot  of  the  bed — and  the  tran- 
sient paralysis  of  horror  laid  hold  of  her.  She  be- 
came bereft  of  the  power  to  grasp  and  hold,  and  the 


70  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

automatic  slipped  from  her  fingers  and  thudded  on 
the  carpet. 

On  the  floor  lay  poor  Johnny  Two-Hawks,  crum- 
pled grotesquely,  a  streak  of  blood  zigzagging  across 
his  forehead;  to  all  appearances,  dead! 


CHAPTER  VII 

TWICE  before  in  her  life  Kitty  had  looked  upon 
death  by  violence;  and  it  required  only  this 
present  picture  to  convince  her  that  she  would 
never  be  able  to  gaze  upon  it  callously,  without  pity 
and  terror.  Newspaper  life — at  least  the  reportorial 
side  of  it — has  an  odd  effect  upon  men  and  women; 
it  sharpens  their  tragical  instincts  and  perceptions 
and  dulls  eternally  the  edge  of  tenderness  and  senti- 
mentality. It  was  natural  for  Kitty  to  possess  the 
keenest  perceptions  of  tragedy;  but  she  had  been 
taken  out  of  the  reportorial  field  in  time  to  preserve 
all  her  tenderness  and  romanticism.  Otherwise  she 
would  have  seen  in  that  crumpled  object  with  the 
sinister  daub  of  blood  on  the  forehead  merely  a  story, 
and  would  have  approached  it  from  that  angle. 

But  was  he  dead?  She  literally  forced  her  steps 
toward  the  body  and  stared.  She  dropped  to  her 
knees  because  they  were  threatening  to  buckle  hi 
one  of  those  flashes  of  physical  incoordination  to 
which  the  strongest  will  must  bow  occasionally. 
She  was  no  longer  afraid  of  the  tragedy,  but  she 
feared  the  great  surging  pity  that  was  striving  to 
express  itself  in  sobs;  and  she  knew  that  if  she  sur- 
rendered she  would  forthwith  become  hysterical 

71 


72  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

for  the  rest  of  the  evening  and  incompetent  to  carry 
out  the  plan  in  her  head. 

A  strong,  healthy  young  man  done  to  death  in  this 
fashion  only  a  few  minutes  after  he  had  left  her 
kitchen!  Somehow  she  could  not  look  upon  him 
as  a  stranger.  She  had  given  him  food;  she  had 
talked  to  him;  she  had  even  laughed  with  him.  He 
was  not  like  those  dead  she  had  seen  in  her  reportor- 
ial  days.  Her  orbit  and  Johnny  Two-Hawks'  had 
indeterminately  touched;  she  had  known  old  Greg- 
ory, or  Gregor,  who  had  been  this  unfortunate  young 
man's  friend.  And  he  had  hoped  they  might  never 
meet  again! 

The  murderous  scoundrels  had  been  watching. 
They  must  have  entered  the  apartment  shortly 
after  he  had  entered  hers.  Conceivably  they  would 
have  Gregor's  key.  And  they  had  watched  and 
waited,  striking  him  down  it  may  have  been  at  the 
very  moment  he  had  crossed  the  sill  of  the  window. 

Her  hand  shook  so  idiotically  that  it  was  impossi- 
ble for  a  time  to  tell  if  the  man's  heart  was  beating. 
All  at  once  a  wave  of  hot  fury  rushed  over  her — fury 
at  the  cowardliness  of  the  assault — and  the  vertigo 
passed.  She  laid  her  palm  firmly  over  Johnny  Two- 
Hawks' heart.  Alive!  He  was  alive!  She  straight- 
ened his  body  and  put  a  pillow  under  his  head. 
Then  she  sought  water  and  towels. 

There  was  no  cut  on  his  forehead,  only  blood; 
but  the  top  of  his  head  had  been  cruelly  beaten. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  73 

He  was  alive,  but  without  immediate  aid  he  might 
die.  The  poor  young  man ! 

There  were  two  physicians  in  the  block;  one  or 
the  other  would  be  in.  She  ran  to  the  door,  to  find 
it  locked.  She  had  forgotten.  Next  she  found  the 
telephone  wire  cut  and  the  speaking  tube  battered 
and  inutile.  She  would  have  to  return  to  her  own 
apartment  to  summon  help.  She  dared  not  leave 
the  light  on.  The  scoundrels  might  possibly  return, 
and  the  light  would  warn  them  that  their  victim  had 
been  discovered;  and  naturally  they  would  wish 
to  ascertain  whether  or  not  they  had  succeeded  in 
their  murderous  assault 

As  she  was  passing  the  first-landing  windows  she 
saw  Cutty  emerging  from  the  elevator.  She  flew 
across  the  fire-escape  platform  with  the  resilient  step 
of  one  crossing  thin  ice.- ' 

Probably  the  most  astonished  man  in  New  York 
was  the  war  correspondent  when  the  door  opened 
and  a  pair  of  arms  were  Sung  about  him,  and  a  voice 
smothered  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat  cried:  "Oh,  Cutty, 
I  never  was  so  glad  to  see  any  one! " 

"What  in  the  name»of " 

"Come!  We'll  handle  this  ourselves.  Hurry!" 
She  dragged  him  along  by  the  sleeve. 

"But- 

"  It  is  life  and  death !    No  talk  now ! " 

Cutty,  immaculate  in  his  evening  clothes,  very 
much  perturbed,  went  along  after  her.  As  she 


74  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

passed  through  the  kitchen  window  and  beckoned 
him  to  follow  he  demurred. 

"Kitty,  what  the  deuce  is  going  on  here?" 

"I'll  answer  your  questions  when  we  get  him  into 
my  apartment.  They  tried  to  murder  him;  left 
him  there  to  die!" 

Cutty  possessed  a  great  art,  an  art  highly  devel- 
oped only  in  explorers  and  newspaper  reporters  of 
the  first  order — adaptability;  of  being  able  to  cast 
aside  .instantly  the  conventions  of  civilization  and 
let  down  the  bars  to  the  primordial,  the  instinctive, 
and  the  natural.  Thus  the  Cutty  who  stepped  out 
beside  Kitty  into  the  drizzle  was  not  the  Cutty  she 
had  admitted  into  the  apartment.  She  did  not  recog- 
nize this  remarkable  transition  until  later;  and  then 
she  discovered  that  Cutty,  the  suave  and  lackadais- 
ical in  idleness,  was  a  tremendous  animal  hibernating 
behind  a  crackle  shell. 

Ordinarily  Cutty  would  have  declined  to  come 
through  this  shell,  thin  as  it  was;  he  liked  these  cat- 
naps between  great  activities.  But  this  lovely 
creature  was  Conover's  daughter,  and  she  would 
have  the  seventh  sense — divination — of  the  born 
reporter.  Something  big  was  in  the  air. 

"Go  on!"  he  said,  briskly.  "I'm  at  your  heels. 
And  stoop  as  you  pass  those  hall  windows.  No  use 
throwing  a  silhouette  for  somebody  in  those  rear 
houses  to  see."  .  .  .  Old  Tommy  Conover's 
daughter,  sure  pop!  .  .  .  There  you  go,  under 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  75 

the  ladder!  You've  dished  the  whole  affair,  what- 
ever it  is.  ...  No,  no!  Just  spoofing, 
Kitty.  A  long  face  is  no  good  anywhere,  even  at  a 
funeral.  .  .  .  This  window?  All  right.  Know 
where  the  lights  are?  Very  good." 

When  Cutty  saw  the  man  on  the  floor  he  knelt 
quickly.  "  "Nasty  bang  on  the  head,  but  he's  alive. 
What's  this?  His  cap.  Poughkeepsie.  By  George, 
padded  with  his  handkerchief!  Must  have  known 
something  was  going  to  fall  on  him.  Now,  what's  it 
all  about?" 

"When  we  get  him  to  my  apartment." 
"  Yours  ?    Good  Lord,  what's  the  matter  with  this  ?  " 
"They  tried  to  kill  him  here.     They  might  return 
to  see  if  they  had  succeeded.     They  mustn't  find 
where  he  has  gone.     I'm  strong.     I  can  take  hold  of 
his  knees." 

"Tut!  Neither  of  us  could  walk  backward  over 
that  fire  escape.  He  looks  husky,  but  I'll  try  it. 
Now  obey  me  without  question  or  comment.  You'll 
have  to  help  me  get  him  outside  the  window  and  in 
through  yours.  Between  the  two  windows  I  can 
handle  him  alone.  I  only  hope  we  shan't  be  noticed, 
for  that  might  prove  awkward.  Now  take  hold. 
That's  it.  When  I'm  through  the  window  just  push 
his  legs  outside."  Panting,  Kitty  obeyed.  "All 
right,"  said  Cutty.  "I  like  your  pluck.  You  run 
along  ahead  and  be  ready  to  help  me  in  with  him. 
A  healthy  beggar!  Here  goes." 


76  Tlie  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

With  a  heave  and  a  hunch  and  another  heave 
Cutty  stood  up,  the  limp  body  disposed  scientifically 
across  his  shoulders.  Kitty  was  quite  impressed  by 
this  exhibition  of  strength  in  a  man  whom  she  con- 
sidered as  elderly — old.  There  was  an  underthought 
that  such  feats  of  bodily  prowess  were  reserved  for 
young  men.  With  the  naive  conceit  of  twenty- 
four  she  ignored  the  actual  mathematics  of  fifty 
years  of  clean  living  and  thinking,  missed  the  physi- 
ological fact  that  often  men  at  fifty  are  stronger  and 
tougher  than  men  in  the  twenties.  They  never 
waste  energy;  their  precision  of  movement  and  delib- 
eration of  thought  conserve  the  residue  against  the 
supreme  moment. 

As  a  parenthesis:  To  a  young  woman  what  is  a 
hero?  Generally  something  conjured  out  of  a  book 
she  has  read;  the  unknown,  handsome  young  man 
across  the  street;  the  leading  actor  in  a  society  drama; 
the  idol  of  the  movie.  A  hero  must  of  necessity  be 
handsome;  that  is  the  first  essential.  If  he  happens 
to  be  brave  and  debonair,  rich  and  aristocratic,  so 
much  the  better.  Somehow,  to  be  brave  and  to 
be  heroic  are  not  actually  accepted  synonyms  in 
certain  youthful  feminine  minds.  For  instance, 
every  maid  will  agree  that  her  father  is  brave;  but 
tell  her  he  is  a  hero  because  he  pays  his  bills  regularly 
and  she  will  accept  the  statement  with  a  smile  of 
tolerant  indulgence. 

Thus  Kitty  viewed  Cutty's  activities  with  a  thrill 


The  Drams  of  Jeopardy  77 

of  amazed  wonder.  Had  the  young  man  hoisted 
Cutty  to  his  shoulders  her  feeling  would  have  been 
one  of  exultant  admiration.  Let  age  crown  its 
garnered  wisdom;  youth  has  no  objections  to  that; 
but  feats  of  physical  strength — that  is  poaching  upon 
youth's  preserves.  Kitty  was  not  conscious  of  the 
instinctive  resentment.  At  that  moment  Cutty  was 
to  her  the  most  extraordinary  old  man  in  the  world. 

"  Forward ! "  he  whispered.  "  I  want  to  know  why 
I  am  doing  this  movie  stunt."  The  journey  began 
with  Kitty  in  the  lead.  She  prayed  that  no  one 
would  see  them  as  they  passed  the  two  landing 
windows.  Below  and  above  were  vivid  squares  of 
golden  light.  She  regretted  the  drizzle;  no  clothes- 
laden  lines  intervened  to  obscure  their  progress. 
Someone  in  the  rear  of  the  houses  in  Seventy -ninth 
Street  might  observe  the  silhouettes.  The  whole 
affair  must  be  carried  off  secretly  or  their  efforts 
would  come  to  nothing. 

Once  inside  the  kitchen  Cutty  shifted  his  burden 
into  his  arms,  the  way  one  carries  a  child,  and  fol- 
lowed Kitty  into  the  unused  bedroom.  He  did  not 
wait  for  the  story,  but  asked  for  the  telephone. 

"I'm  going  to  call  for  a  surgeon  at  the  Lambs. 
He's  just  back  from  France  and  knows  a  lot  about 
broken  heads.  And  we  can  trust  him  absolutely. 
I  told  him  to  wait  there  until  I  called." 

**  Cutty,  you're  a  dear.  I  don't  wonder  father 
loved  you." 


78  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Presently  he  turned  away  from  the  telephone. 
"He'll  be  here  in  a  jiffy.  Now,  then,  what  the  deuce 
is  all  this  about?" 

Briefly  Kitty  narrated  the  episodes. 

"Samaritan  stuff.  I  see.  Any  absorbent  cotton? 
I  can  wash  the  wound  after  a  fashion.  Warm  water 
and  Castile  soap.  We  can  have  him  in  shape  for 
Harrison." 

Alone,  Cutty  took  note  of  several  apparent  facts. 
The  victim's  flannel  shirt  was  torn  at  the  collar  and 
there  were  marks  of  finger  nails  on  the  throat  and 
chest.  Upon  close  inspection  he  observed  a  thin 
red  line  round  the  neck — the  mark  of  a  thong.  Had 
they  tried  to  strangle  him  or  had  he  carried  something 
of  value?  Silk  underwear  and  a  clean  body;  well 
born;  foreign.  After  a  conscientious  hesitance  Cutty 
went  through  the  pockets.  All  he  found  were  some 
crumbs  of  tobacco  and  a  soggy  match  box.  They 
had  cleaned  him  out  evidently.  There  were  no 
tailors'  labels  in  any  of  the  pockets;  but  there  were 
signs  that  these  had  once  existed.  The  man  on  the 
bed  had  probably  ripped  them  out  himself;  did  not 
care  to  be  identified. 

A  criminal  in  flight?  Cutty  studied  the  face  on 
the  pillow.  Shorn  of  that  beard  it  would  be  hand- 
some; not  the  type  criminal,  certainly.  A  bit  of 
natural  cynicism  edged  into  his  thoughts:  Kitty  had 
seen  through  the  beard,  otherwise  she  would  have 
turned  the  affair  over  to  the  police.  Not  at  all  like 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  79 

• 
her  mother,  yet  equally  her  mother's  match  in  beauty 

land  intelligence.  Conover's  girl,  whose  eyes  had 
'nearly  popped  out  of  her  head  at  the  first  sight  of 
those  drum-lined  walls  of  his. 

Two-Hawks.  What  was  it  that  was  trying  to  stir 
in  his  recollection?  Two-Hawks.  He  was  sure  he 
had  heard  that  name  before.  Hawksley  meant 
nothing  at  all;  but  Two-Hawks  possessed  a  strange 
attraction.  He  stared  off  into  space.  He  might 
have  heard  the  name  in  a  tongue  other  than  Eng* 
lish. 

A  sound.  It  came  from  the  lips  of  the  young 
man.  Cutty  frowned.  The  poor  chap  wasn't 
breathing  in  a  promising  way;  he  groaned  after  each 
inhalation.  And  what  had  become  of  the  old  fellow 
Kitty  called  Gregory?  A  queer  business. 

Kitty  came  in  with  a  basin  and  a  roll  of  absorbent 
cotton. 

"He  is  groaning!"  she  whispered. 

"Pretty  rocky  condition,  I  should  say.  That 
handkerchief  in  his  cap  doubtless  saved  him.  Now, 
little  lady,  I  frankly  don't  like  the  idea  of  his  being 
here.  Suppose  he  dies?  In  that  event  there'll  be 
the  very  devil  to  pay.  You're  all  alone  here,  with- 
out even  a  maid." 

"Am  I  all  alone?"— softly.  •_ 

"Well,  no;  come  to  think  of  it,  I'm  no  longer  your 
godfather  in  theory.  Give  me  the  cotton  and  hold 
the  basin." 


80  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

He  was  very  tender.  The  wound  bled  a  little; 
but  it  was  not  the  kind  that  bled  profusely.  It 
was  less  a  cut  than  a  smashing  bruise. 

"Well,  that's  all  I  can  do.  Who  was  this  tenant 
Gregory?" 

"A  dear  old  man.  A  valet  at  a  Broadway  hotel. 
Oh,  I  forgot!  Johnny  Two-Hawks  called  him  Ste- 
fani  Gregor." 

"Stefani  Gregor?" 

"Yes.  What  is  it?  Why  do  you  say  it  like 
that?" 

"Say  it  like  what?" — sparring  for  time. 

"As  if  you  had  heard  the  name  before?  " 

"Just  as  I  thought!"  cried  Cutty,  his  nimble  mind 
pouncing  upon  a  happy  invention.  "You're  ro- 
mantic, Kitty.  You're  imagining  all  sLrts  of  non- 
sense about  this  chap,  and  you  must  not  let  the  situa- 
tion intrigue  you.  If  I  spoke  the  name  oddly — this 
Stef  ani  Gregor — it  was  because  I  sensed  in  a  moment 
that  this  was  a  bit  of  the  overflow.  Southeastern 
Europe,  where  the  good  Samaritan  gets  kicked  in- 
stead of  thanked.  Now,  here's  a  good  idea.  Of 
course  we  can't  turn  this  poor  chap  loose  upon  the 
public,  now  that  we  know  his  life  is  in  danger. 
That's  always  the  trouble  with  this  Samaritan  busi- 
ness. When  you  commit  a  fine  action  you  assume 
an  obligation.  You  hoist  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea  on 
your  shoulders,  as  it  were.  The  chap  cannot  be  al- 
lowed to  remain  here.  So,  if  Harrison  agrees,  well 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  81 

take  him  up  to  my  diggings,  where  no  Bolshevik 
will  ever  lay  eyes  upon  him." 

"Bolshevik?" 

"For  the  sake  of  a  handle.  They  might  be  China- 
men, for  all  I  know.  I  can  take  care  of  him  until 
he  is  on  his  feet.  And  you  will  be  saved  all  this 
annoyance." 

"But  I  don't  believe  it's  going  to  be  an  annoyance. 
I'm  terribly  interested,  and  want  to  see  it  through." 

"If  he  can  be  moved,  out  he  goes.  No  argu- 
ments. He  can't  stay  in  this  apartment.  That's 
final." 

"Exactly  why  not?"  Kitty  demanded,  rebel- 
liously. 

"Because  I  say  so,  Kitty." 

"Is  Stefani  Gregor  an  undesirable?" 

"You  knew  him.  What  do  you  say?"  countered 
her  godfather,  evading  the  trap.  The.innocent  child ! 
He  smiled  inwardly. 

Kitty  was  keen.  She  sensed  an  undercurrent,  and 
her  first  attempt  to  touch  it  had  failed.  The  mere 
name  of  Stefani  Gregor  had  not  roused  Cutty's  as- 
tonishment. She  was  quite  positive  that  the  name 
was  not  wholly  unfamiliar  to  her  father's  friend. 

Still,  something  warned  her  not  to  press  in  this 
direction.  He  would  be  on  the  alert.  She  must 
wait  until  he  had  forgotten  the  incident.  So  she 
drew  up  a  chair  beside  the  bed  and  sat  down. 

Cutty  leaned  against  the  footrail,  his  expression 


S2  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

neutral.  He  sighed  inaudibly.  His  delightful  cat- 
nap was  over.  Stefani  Gregor,  Kitty's  neighbour, 
a  valet  in  a  fashionable  hotel!  Stefani  Gregor,  who, 
upon  a  certain  day,  had  placed  the  drums  of  jeopardy 
in  the  palms  of  a  war  correspondent  known  to  his 
familiars  as  Cutty.  And  who  was  this  young  man 
on  the  bed? 

"There  goes  the  bell!"  cried  Kitty,  jumping  up. 

"Wait!" 

The  ring  was  repeated  vigorously  and  impa- 
tiently. 

"Kitty,  I  don't  quite  like  the  sound  of  that  bell. 
Harrison  would  have  no  occasion  to  be  impatient. 
Somebody  in  a  hurry.  Now,  attend  to  me.  I'm 
going  to  steal  out  to  the  kitchen.  Don't  be  afraid. 
Call  if  I'm  needed.  Open  the  door  just  a  crack, 
with  your  foot  against  it.  If  it's  Harrison  he'll  be 
in  uniform.  Call  out  his  name.  Slam  the  door  if 
It  is  someone  you  don't  know." 

Kitty  opened  the  door  as  instructed,  but  she 
swung  it  wide  because  one  of  the  men  outside  was  a 
policeman.  The  man  behind  him  was  a  thickset, 
squat  individual,  with  puffed,  discoloured  eyes  and  a 
nose  that  reminded  Kitty  of  an  alligator  pear. 

"What's  going  on  here?"  the  policeman  demanded 
to  know. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  PHRASE,  apparently  quite  irrelevant  to 
"  the  situation,  shot  into  Kitty's  head.  Mori- 
bund perspectives.  Instantly  she  knew, 
with  that  foretasting  mind  of  hers,  that  the  man 
peering  over  the  policeman's  shoulder  and  Johnny 
Two-Hawks  had  met  somewhere  that  day.  She 
was  now  able  to  compare  the  results,  and  she  placed 
the  victory  on  Two-Hawks'  brow.  Yonder  individ- 
ual somehow  justified  the  instinct  that  had  prompted 
her  to  play  the  good  Samaritan.  Whence  had  this 
gorilla  come?  He  was  not  one  of  the  men  who  had 
issued  in  such  dramatic  haste  from  the  Gregor  apart- 
ment. 

"This  man  here  saw  you  and  another  carrying 
someone  across  the  fire  escape.  What's  the  rum- 
pus?" The  policeman  was  not  exactly  belligerent, 
but  he  was  dutifully  determined.  And  though  he 
was  ready  to  grant  that  this  girl  with  the  Irish  eyes 
was  beautiful,  a  man  never  could  tell. 

"There's  been  a  tragedy  of  some  kind,"  began 
Kitty.  "This  man  certainly  did  see  us  carrying  a 
man  across  the  fire  escape.  He  had  been  set  upon 
and  robbed  in  the  apartment  across  the  way." 

"Why  didn't  you  call  in  the  police?" 

83 


84  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Because  he  might  have  died  before  you  got 
here." 

"Where's  the  man  who  helped  you?" 

"Gone.  He  was  an  outsider.  He  was  afraid  of 
getting  mixed  up  in  a  police  affair  and  ran  away." 

Behind  the  kitchen  door  Cutty  smiled.  She 
would  do,  this  girl. 

"Sounds  all  right,"  said  the  policeman.  "I'll 
take  a  look  at  the  man." 

"This  way,  if  you  please,"  said  Kitty,  readily. 
"You  come,  too,  sir,"  she  added  as  the  squat  man 
hesitated.  Kitty  wanted  to  watch  his  expression 
when  he  saw  Johnny  Two-Hawks. 

Seed  on  rocky  soil;  nothing  came  of  the  little 
artifice.  No  Buddha's  graven  face  was  less  indica- 
tive than  the  squat  man's.  Perhaps  his  face  was  too 
sore  to  permit  mobility  of  expression.  The  drollery 
of  this  thought  caused  a  quirk  in  one  corner  of  Kitty's 
mouth.  The  squat  man  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed  with  the  air  of  a  mere  passer-by  and  seemed  more 
interested  in  the  investigations  of  the  policeman 
than  in  the  man  on  the  bed.  But  Kitty  knew. 

"A  fine  bang  on  the  coco,"  was  the  policeman's 
observation.  "  Take  anything  out  of  his  pockets?  " 

"They  were  quite  empty.  I've  sent  for  a  military 
surgeon.  He  may  arrive  at  any  moment." 

"This  fellow  live  across  the  way?" 

"  That's  the  odd  part  of  it.     No,  he  doesn't." 

"Then  what  was  he  doing  there?" 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  85 

"Probably  awaiting  the  return  of  the  real  tenant 
who  hasn't  returned  up  to  this  hour" — with  an 
oblique  glance  at  the  squat  man. 

"Kind  o'  queer.  Say,  you  stay  here  and  watch 
the  lady  while  I  scout  round." 

The  squat  man  nodded  and  leaned  over  the  foot 
of  the  bed.  The  policeman  stalked  out. 

"I  was  in  the  kitchen,"  said  Kitty,  confidingly. 
"I  saw  shadows  on  the  window  curtain.  It  did 
not  look  right.  So  I  started  to  inquire  and  almost 
bumped  into  two  men  leaving  the  apartment.  They 
took  to  their  heels  when  they  saw  me." 

Again  the  squat  man  nodded.  He  appeared  to  be 
a  good  listener. 

"Where  were  you  when  we  crossed  the  fire  es- 
cape?" 

"In  the  yard  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence." 
There  was  reluctance  in  the  guttural  voice. 

"Oh,  I  see.     You  live  there." 

As  this  was  a  supposition  and  not  a  direct  query, 
the  squat  man  wagged  his  head  affirmatively. 

Kitty,  her  ears  strained  for  disquieting  sounds  in 
the  kitchen,  laid  her  palm  on  the  patient's  cheek. 
It  was  very  hot.  She  dipped  a  bit  of  cotton  into 
the  water,  which  had  grown  cold,  and  dampened  the 
wounded  man's  cheeks  and  throat.  Not  that  she 
expected  to  accomplish  anything  by  this  act;  it 
relieved  the  nerve  tension.  This  man  was  no  fool. 
If  her  surmises  were  correct  he  was  a  strong  man  both 


86  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

in  body  and  in  mind.  In  a  rage  he  would  be  terri- 
ble. However,  had  Johnny  Two-Hawks  done  it — 
beaten  the  man  and  escaped?  No  doubt  he  had 
been  watching  all  the  time  and  had  at  length  stepped 
in  to  learn  if  his  subordinates  had  followed  his  in- 
structions and  to  what  extent  they  had  succeeded. 

"If  he  dies  it  will  be  murder." 

"It  is  a  big  city." 

"And  so  many  terrible  things  happen  like  this 
every  day.  But  sooner  or  later  those  who  commit 
them  are  found  out.  Nemesis  always  follows  on  the 
heels  of  vengeance." 

For  the  first  time  there  was  a  flash  of  interest  in 
the  battered  eyes  of  the  intruder.  Perhaps  he  saw 
that  this  was  not\mly  a  pretty  woman  but  a  keen  one, 
and  sensed  the  veiled  threat.  Moreover,  he  knew 
that  she  had  lied  at  one  point.  There  had  been  no 
light  in  the  room  across  the  court. 

But  what  in  the  world  was  happening  out  there 
in  the  kitchen?  Kitty  wondered.  So  far,  not  a 
sound.  Had  Cutty  really  taken  flight?  And  why 
shouldn't  he  have  faced  it  out  at  her  side?  Very  odd 
on  Cutty's  part.  Shortly  she  heard  the  heavy  shoes 
of  the  policeman  returning. 

"Guess  it's  all  right,  miss.  I'll  report  the  affair 
at  the  precinct  and  have  an  ambulance  sent  over. 
You'll  have  to  come  along  with  me,  sir." 

"Is  that  legally  necessary?"  asked  the  squat 
man,  rather  perturbed. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  87 

"Sure.  You  saw  the  thing  and  I  verified  it," 
declared  the  policeman.  "It  won't  take  ten  min- 
utes. Your  name  and  address,  in  case  this  man 
dies." 

"I  see.     Very  well." 

Kitty  wasn't  sure,  but  the  policeman  seemed  em- 
barrassed about  something.  The  directness  was 
gone  from  his  eyes  and  his  speech  was  no  longer 
brisk. 

"My  name  is  Conover,"  said  Kitty. 

"I  got  that  coming  in,"  replied  the  policeman. 
"We'll  be  on  our  way." 

Not  once  again  did  the  squat  man  glance  at  the 
man  on  the  bed.  He  followed  the  policeman  into 
the  hall,  his  air  that  of  one  who  had  accepted  a  cer- 
tain obligation  to  community  welfare  and  cancelled 
it. 

Kitty  shut  the  door — and  leaned  against  it  weakly. 
Where  had  Cutty  gone?  Even  as  she  expressed  the 
query  she  smelt  burning  tobacco.  She  ran  out  into 
the  kitchen,  to  behold  Cutty  seated  in  a  chair  calmly 
smoking  his  infamous  pipe ! 

"And  I  thought  you  were  gone!  What  did  you 
say  to  that  policeman?" 

"I  hypnotized  him,  Kitty." 

" The  newspaper?  " 

"No.  Just  looked  into  his  eye  and  made  a  few 
passes  with  my  hands." 

"Of  course,  if  you  believe  you  ought  not  to  tell 


88  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

me —  '  said  Kitty,  which  is  the  way  all  women 
start  their  wheedling. 

Cutty  looked  into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe. 

"Kitty,  when  you  throw  a  cobble  into  a  pond, 
what  happens?  A  splash.  But  did  you  ever  notice 
the  way  the  ripples  have  of  running  on  and  on,  until 
they  touch  the  farthest  shore?" 

"Yes.  And  this  is  a  ripple  from  some  big  stone 
cast  into  the  pond  of  southeastern  Europe.  I  under- 
stand." 

"That's  just  the  difficulty.  If  you  understood 
nothing  it  would  be  much  easier  for  me.  But  you 
know  just  enough  to  want  to  follow  up  on  your  own 
hook.  I  know  nothing  definitely;  I  have  only  sus- 
picions. I  calmed  that  policeman  by  showing  him  a 
blanket  police  power  issued  by  the  commissioner. 
I  want  you  to  pack  up  and  move  out  of  this  neigh- 
bourhood. It's  not  congenial  to  you." 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  afford  to  move  until  May." 

"I'll  take  care  of  that  gladly,  to  get  you  out  of 
this  garlicky  ruin." 

"No,  Cutty;  I'm  going  to  stay  here  until  the  lease 
is  up." 

"Gee-whiz!  The  Irish  are  all  alike,"  cried  the 
war  correspondent,  hopelessly.  "Petticoat  or  panta- 
loon, always  looking  for  trouble." 

"No,  Cutty;  simply  we  don't  run  away  from  it. 
And  there's  just  as  much  Irish  in  you  as  there  is  in 


me." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  89 

"Sure!  And  for  thirty  years  I've  gone  hunting  for 
trouble,  and  never  failed  to  find  it.  I  don't  like  this 
affair,  Kitty;  and  because  I  don't  I'm  going  to  risk 
my  Samson  locks  in  your  lily-white  hands.  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  two  things:  I  am  a  secret  foreign 
agent  of  the  United  States  Government.  Now  don't 
light  up  that  way.  Dark  alleys  and  secret  papers 
and  beautiful  adventuresses  and  bang-bang  have 
nothing  at  all  to  do  with  my  job.  There  isn't  a 
grain  of  romance  in  it.  Ostensibly  I  am  a  war  cor- 
respondent. I  have  handled  all  the  big  events  in 
Serbia  and  Bulgaria  and  Greece  and  southwestern 
Russia.  Boiled  down,  I  am  a  census  taker  of  unde- 
sirables. Socialist,  anarchist  and  Bolshevik — I  pho- 
tograph them  in  my  mental  'fillums*  and  transmit 
to  Washington.  Thus,  when  Feodor  Slopeski  lands 
at  Ellis  Island  with  the  idea  of  blowing  up  New  York, 
he  is  returned  with  thanks.  I  didn't  ask  for  the 
job;  it  was  thrust  upon  me  because  of  my  knowledge 
of  the  foreign  tongues.  I  accepted  it  because  I  am  a 
loyal  American  citizen." 

"And  you  left  me  because  you  didn't  know  who 
might  be  at  the  door!" 

"Precisely.  I  am  known  in  lower  New  York  under 
another  name.  I'm  a  rabid  internationalist.  Down 
with  everything!  I  don't  go  out  much  these  days; 
keep  under  cover  as  much  as  I  can.  Once  recog- 
nized, my  value  would  be  nil.  In  a  flannel  shirt  I'm 
a  dangerous  codger." 


90  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"And  Gregor  and  this  poor  young  man  are  in 
some  way  mixed  up  with  internationalism!" 

"Victims,  probably." 

"What  is  the  other  thing  you  wish  to  tell  me?" 

"Because  your  eyes  are  slate  blue  like  your 
mother's.  I  loved  your  mother,  Kitty,"  said  Cutty, 
blinking  into  his  pipe.  "And  the  singular  fact  is, 
your  father  knew  but  your  mother  never  did.  I  was 
never  able  to  tell  your  mother  after  your  father  died. 
Their  bodies  were  separated,  but  not  their  spirits." 

Kitty  nodded.     So  that  was  it?     Poor  Cutty! 

"I  make  this  confession  because  I  want  you  to 
understand  my  attitude  toward  you.  I  am  going 
to  elect  myself  as  your  special  guardian  so  long  as 
I'm  in  New  York.  From  now  on,  when  I  ask  you 
to  do  something,  understand  that  I  believe  it  best 
for  you.  If  my  suspicions  are  correct  we  are  not 
dealing  with  fools  but  with  madmen.  The  most 
dangerous  human  being,  Kitty,  is  an  honest  man 
with  a  half-baked  or  crooked  idea;  and  that's  what 
this  world  pother,  Bolshevism,  is — honest  men  with 
crooked  ideas,  carrying  the  torch  of  anarchism  and 
believing  it  enlightenment.  What  makes  them  tear 
down  things?  Every  beautiful  building  is  only  a 
monument  to  their  former  wretchedness;  and  so  they 
annihilate.  None  of  them  actually  knows  what  he 
wants.  A  thousand  will-o'-the-wisps  in  front  of 
them,  and  all  alike.  A  thousand  years  to  throw  off 
the  shackles,  and  they  expect  Utopia  in  ten  minutes! 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  91 

It  makes  you  want  to  weep.  Socialism — the  broth- 
erhood of  man — is  a  beautiful  thing  theoretically; 
but  it  is  like  some  plays — they  read  well  but  do  not 
act.  Lopping  off  heads,  believing  them  to  be  ideas ! " 

"The  poor  things!" 

"That's  it.  Though  I  betray  them  I  pity  them. 
Democracy;  slowly  and  surely.  As  prickly  with 
faults  as  a  cactus  pear;  but  every  year  there  are  less 
prickles.  We  don't  stand  still  or  retrogress;  we 
keep  going  on  and  up.  Take  this  town.  Think  of 
it  to-day  and  compare  it  with  the  town  your  father 
knew.  There's  the  bell.  I  imagine  that  will  be 
Harrison.  If  we  can  move  this  chap  will  you  go  to 
a  hotel  for  the  night?  " 

"I'm  going  to  stay  here,  Cutty.    That's  final." 

Cutty  sighed. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  THE  precinct  station  the  squat  man  gave  a 
name  and  an  address  to  the  bored  sergeant 
at  the  desk,  passed  out  a  cigar,  lit  one  him- 
self, expressed  some  innocuous  opinions  upon  one 
or  two  topics  of  the  day,  and  walked  leisurely  out  of 
the  precinct.  He  wanted  to  laugh.  These  pig- 
heads  had  never  thought  to  question  his  presence  in 
the  backyard  of  the  house  in  Seventy-ninth  Street. 
It  was  the  way  he  had  carried  himself.  Those  years 
in  New  York,  prior  to  the  war,  had  not  been  wasted. 
The  brass-buttoned  fools! 

Serenely  unconscious  that  he  was  at  liberty  by 
explicit  orders,  because  the  Department  of  Justice 
did  not  care  to  trap  a  werewolf  before  ascertaining 
where  the  pack  was  and  what  the  kill,  he  proceeded 
leisurely  to  the  corner,  turned,  and  broke  into  a  run, 
which  carried  him  to  a  drug  store  in  Eightieth  Street. 
Here  he  was  joined  by  two  men,  apparently  coal 
heavers  by  the  look  of  their  hands  and  faces. 

"They  will  take  him  to  a  hospital.  Find  where, 
then  notify  me.  Remember,  this  is  your  business, 
and  woe  to  you  if  you  fail.  Where  is  it?" 

One  of  the  men  extended  an  object  wrapped  in 
ordinary  grocer's  paper. 

92 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  93 

"Ha!  That's  good.  I  shall  enjoy  myself  pres- 
ently. Remember:  telephone  me  the  moment  you 
learn  where  they  take  him.  He  is  still  alive,  bun- 
glers! And  you  came  away  empty-handed." 

"There  was  nothing  on  him.     We  searched." 

"He  has  hidden  them  in  one  of  those  rooms.  I'll 
attend  to  that  later.  Watch  the  hospital  for  an  hour 
or  so,  then  telephone  for  information  regarding  his 
condition.  Is  that  motor  for  me?  Very  good.  Re- 
member!" 

Inside  the  taxicab  the  squat  man  patted  the  object 
on  his  knees,  and  chuckled  from  time  to  time  audibly. 
It  would  be  worth  all  that  journey,  all  he  had  gone 
through  since  dawn  that  morning.  Stefani  Gregor! 
After  these  seven  long  years — the  man  who  had  be- 
trayed him!  To  reach  into  his  breast  and  squeeze 
his  heart  as  one  might  squeeze  a  bit  of  cheese !  Many 
things  to  tell,  many  pictures  to  paint. 

He  rode  far  downtown,  wound  in  and  out  of  the 
warehouse  district  for  a  while,  then  dismissed  the 
taxi  and  proceeded  on  foot  to  his  destination — a 
decayed  brick  mansion  of  the  40's  sandwiched  in 
between  two  deserted  warehouses.  In  the  hall  of  the 
first  landing  a  man  sat  in  a  chair  under  the  gas,  read- 
ing a  newspaper.  At  the  approach  of  the  squat  man 
he  sprang  to  his  feet,  but  a  phrase  dissipated  his  ap- 
prehension and  he  nodded  toward  a  door. 

"Unlock  it  for  me  and  see  that  I  am  not  disturbed." 

Presently  the  squat  man  stood  inside  the  room, 


94  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

which  was  dark.  He  struck  a  match  and  peered 
about  for  the  candle.  The  light  discovered  a  room 
barren  of  all  furniture  excepting  the  table  upon  which 
stood  the  candle,  and  a  single  chair.  In  this  chair 
was  a  man,  bound.  He  was  small  and  dapper,  his 
gray  hair  swept  back  a  la  Liszt.  His  chin  was  on 
his  breast,  his  body  limp.  Apparently  the  bonds 
alone  held  him  in  the  chair. 

The  squat  man  laid  his  bundle  on  the  table  and 
approached  the  prisoner. 

"Stefani  Gregor,  look  up;  it  is  I!"  He  drummed 
on  his  chest  like  a  challenging  gorilla.  "I,  Boris 
Karlov!" 

Slowly  the  eyelids  of  the  prisoner  went  up,  reveal- 
ing mild  blue  eyes.  But  almost  instantly  the  mild- 
ness was  replaced  by  an  agate  hardness,  and  the  body 
became  upright. 

"Yes,  it  is  Boris,  whom  you  betrayed.  But  I  es- 
caped by  a  hair,  Stefani;  and  we  meet  again." 

What  good  to  tell  this  poor  madman  that  Stelani 
Gregor  had  not  betrayed  him,  that  he  had  only 
warned  those  marked  for  death?  There  was  no 
longer  reason  inside  that  skull.  To  die,  probably 
in  a  few  moments.  So  be  it.  Had  he  not  been  ready 
for  seven  years?  But  that  poor  boy — to  have  come 
all  these  thousands  of  miles,  only  to  walk  into  a  trap! 
Had  he  found  that  note?  Had  they  killed  him? 
Doubtless  they  had  or  Boris  Karlov  would  not  be 
in  this  room. 


95 

"We  killed  him  to-night,  Stefani,  in  your  rooms. 
We  threw  out  the  food  so  he  would  have  to  seek 
something  to  eat.  The  last  of  that  breed,  stem  and 
branch!  We  are  no  longer  the  mud;  we  ourselves 
are  the  heels.  We  are  conquering  the  world.  To- 
day Europe  is  ours;  to-morrow,  America!" 

A  wintry  little  smile  stirred  the  lips  of  the  man  in 
the  chair.  America,  with  its  keen  perceptions  of  the 
ridiculous,  its  withering  humour! 

"No  more  the  dissolute  opera  dancers  will  dance 
to  your  fiddling,  Stefani,  while  we  starve  in  the  town. 
Fiddler,  valet,  tutor,  the  rivers  and  seas  of  Russia 
are  red.  We  roll  east  and  west,  and  our  emblem  is 
red.  Stem  and  branch!  We  ground  our  heels  in 
their  faces  as  for  centuries  they  ground  theirs  in  ours. 
He  escaped  us  there — but  I  was  Nemesis.  He  died 
to-night." 

The  body  in  the  chair  relaxed  a  little.  "He  was 
clean  and  honest,  Boris.  I  made  him  so.  He  would 
have  done  fine  things  if  you  had  let  him  live." 

"That  breed?" 

"  Why,  you  yourself  loved  him  when  he  was  a  boy ! " 

"Stem  and  branch!  I  loved  my  little  sister  Anna, 
too.  But  what  did  they  do  to  her  behind  those 
marble  walls?  Did  you  fiddle  for  her?  What  was 
she  when  they  let  her  go?  My  pretty  little  Anna! 
The  fires  of  hell  for  those  damned  green  stones  of 
yours,  Stefani!  She  heard  of  them  and  wanted  to 
see  them,  and  you  promised." 


96  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"I?  I  never  promised  Anna!  ...  So  that 
was  it?  Boris,  I  only  saw  her  there.  I  never  knew 
what  brought  her.  But  the  boy  was  in  England  then." 

"The  breed,  the  breed!"  roared  the  squat  man. 
"Ha,  but  you  should  have  seen!  Those  gay  officers 
and  their  damned  master — we  left  them  with  their 
faces  in  the  mud,  Stefani;  in  the  mud!  And  the  wo- 
men begged.  Fine  music!  Those  proud  hearts, 
begging  Boris  Karlov  for  their  lives — their  faces  in 
the  mud!  You,  born  of  us  in  those  Astrakhan  Hills, 
you  denied  us  because  you  liked  your  fiddle  and 
a  full  belly,  and  to  play  keeper  of  those  emeralds. 
The  winding  paths  of  torture  and  misery  and  death 
by  which  they  came  into  the  possession  of  that  house! 
And  always  the  proletariat  has  had  to  pay  in  blood 
and  daughters.  You,  of  the  people,  to  betray  us!" 

"I  did  not  betray  you.  I  only  tried  to  save  those 
who  had  been  kind  to  me." 

A  cunning  light  shot  into  Karlov's  eyes.  "The 
emeralds!"  He  struck  his  pocket.  "Here,  Ste- 
fani; and  they  shall  be  broken  up  to  buy  bread  for 
our  people." 

"That  poor  boy!  So  he  brought  them!  What 
are  you  going  to  do  with  me?" 

"Watch  you  grow  thin,  Stefani.  You  want  death; 
you  shall  want  food  instead.  Oh,  a  little;  enough 
to  keep  you  alive.  You  must  learn  what  it  is  to  be 
hungry." 

The  squat  man  picked  up  the  bundle  from  the 


Tlie  Drums  of  Jeopardy  97 

table  and  tore  off  the  wrapping  paper.  A  violin 
the  colour  of  old  Burgundy  lay  revealed. 

"Boris!"     The  man  in  the  chair  writhed. 

"Have  I  waked  you,  Stefani?" — tenderly.  "The 
Stradivarius — the  very  grand  duke  of  fiddles!  And 
he  and  his  damned  officers,  how  they  used  to  call  out 
— 'Get  Stefani  to  fiddle  for  us!'  And  you  fiddled, 
dragged  your  genius  through  the  mud  to  keep  your 
belly  warm!" 

"  To  save  a  soul,  Boris — the  boy's.  When  I  fiddled 
his  uncle  forgot  to  drag  him  into  an  orgy.  Ah,  yes;  I 
fiddled,  fiddled  because  I  had  promised  his  mother!" 

"The  Italian  singer!  She  was  lucky  to  die  when 
she  did.  She  did  not  see  the  torch,  the  bayonet,  and 
the  mud.  But  the  boy  did — with  his  English  ac- 
cent! How  he  escaped  I  don't  know;  but  he  died 
to-night,  and  the  emeralds  are  in  my  pocket.  See!" 
Karlov  held  the  instrument  close  to  the  other's  face. 
"Look  at  it  well,  this  grand  duke  of  fiddles.  Look, 
fiddler,  look!" 

The  huge  hands  pressed  suddenly.  There  was  a 
brittle  crackling,  and  a  rare  violin  became  kindling. 
A  sob  broke  from  the  prisoner's  lips.  What  to  Kar- 
lov was  a  fiddle  to  him  was  a  soul.  He  saw  the  mad- 
man fling  the  wreckage  to  the  floor  and  grind  his 
heels  into  the  fragments.  Gregor  shut  his  eyes,  but 
he  could  not  shut  his  ears;  and  he  sensed  in  that  cold, 
demoniacal  fury  of  the  crunching  heel  the  rising  of 
maddened  peoples. 


CHAPTER  X 

MEANTIME,  Captain  Harrison  of  the  Medi- 
cal Corps  entered  the  Conover  apartment 
briskly. 

"You  old  vagabond,  what  have  you  been  up  to? 
.  .  .  I  beg  pardon!" — as  he  saw  Kitty  emerge 
from  behind  Cutty's  bulk. 

"This  is  Miss  Conover.  Harrison." 

"Very  pleased,  I'm  sure.  Luckily  my  case  was 
in  the  coat  room  at  the  club.  I  took  the  liberty  of 
telephoning  for  Miss  Frances,  who  returned  on  the 
same  ship  with  me.  I  concluded  that  your  friend 
would  need  a  nurse.  Let  me  have  a  look  at  him." 

Callously  but  lightly  and  skillfully  the  surgeon 
examined  the  battered  head.  "Escaped  concussion 
by  a  hair,  you  might  say.  Probably  had  his  cap  on. 
That  black  eye,  though,  is  an  older  affair.  Who  is 
he?" 

"I  suspect  he's  some  political  refugee.  We  don't 
know  a  thing  about  him  otherwise.  How  soon  can 
he  be  moved?" 

"He  ought  to  be  moved  at  once  and  given  the  best 
of  care." 

"  I  cantgive  him  that  in  my  eagle's  nest.  Harrison, 
this  chap's  life  is  in  danger;  and  if  we  get  him  into 

98 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  99 

my  lofty  diggings  they  won't  be  able  to  trace  him. 
Not  far  from  here  there's  a  private  hospital  I  know. 
It  goes  through  from  one  street  to  the  next.  I 
know  the  doctor.  We'll  have  the  ambulance  carry 
the  patient  there,  but  at  the  rear  I'll  have  one 
of  the  office  newspaper  trucks.  And  after  a  little 
wait  we'Jl  shoot  the  stretcher  into  the  truck.  The 
police  will  not  bother  us.  I've  seen  to  that.  I 
rather  believe  it  falls  in  with  some  of  my  work.  The 
main  idea,  of  course,  is  to  rid  Miss  Conover  of  any 
trouble." 

"Just  as  you  say,"  agreed  the  surgeon.  "That's 
all  I  can  do  for  the  present.  I'll  run  down  to  the 
entrance  and  wait  for  the  nurse." 

"Will  he  live?"  asked  Kitty. 

"Of  course  he  will.  He  is  in  good  physical  condi- 
tion. Imagine  he  has  simply  been  knocked  out. 
Serious  only  if  unattended.  Your  finding  him  prob- 
ably saved  him.  Twelve  hours  will  tell  the  story. 
May  be  on  his  feet  inside  a  week.  Still,  it  would 
be  advisable  to  keep  him  in  bed  as  long  as  possible. 
Fagged  out,  I  should  say,  from  that  beard.  I'll  go 
down  and  wait  for  Miss  Frances." 

"And  ring  three  times  when  you  return,"  advised 
Cutty. 

"All  right.  Did  they  try  to  strangle  him  or  did 
he  have  something  round  his  neck?" 

"Hanged  if  I  know." 

"All  out  of  the  room  now.     I  want  it  dark.     Just 


100  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

as  soon  as  the  nurse  arrives  I'll  return.  Three  rings," 
Harrison  left  the  apartment. 

Cutty  spent  a  few  minutes  at  the  telephone,  then 
he  joined  Kitty  in  the  living  room. 

"Kitty,  what  was  the  stranger  like?" 

"Like  a  gorilla.  He  spoke  English  as  if  he  had  a 
cold." 

Cutty  scowled  into  space.  "Have  a  scar  over  an 
eyebrow?" 

"Good  gracious,  I  couldn't  tell!  Both  his  eyes 
were  black  and  his  nose  banged  dreadfully.  Johnny 
Two-Hawks  probably  did  it." 

"Bully  for  Two-Hawks!  Kitty,  you're  a  marvel. 
Not  a  flivver  from  the  start.  And  those  slate-blue 
eyes  of  yours  don't  miss  many  things." 

"Listen!"  she  interrupted,  taking  hold  of  his 
sleeve.  "Hear  it?" 

"Only  the  Elevated." 

"Tumpitum-famp/  Tumpitum-tump!  Cutty,  you 
hypnotized  me  this  afternoon  with  your  horrid 
drums." 

"The  emeralds?"  He  managed  to  repress  the 
start. 

"I  don't  know  what  it  is;  drums,  anyhow.  Maybe 
it  is  the  emeralds.  Something  has  been  happening 
ever  since  you  told  me  about  them — the  misery  and 
evil  that  follow  their  wake." 

"But  the  story  goes  that  women  are  immune, 
Kitty." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  101 

"Nonsense!  No  woman  is  immune  where  a  won- 
derful gem  is  concerned.  And  yet  I've  common 
sense  and  humour." 

"And  a  lot  more  besides,  Kitty.  You're  a  raving, 
howling  little  beauty;  and  how  you've  remained  out 
of  captivity  this  long  is  a  puzzler  to  me.  Haven't 
you  got  a  beau  somewhere?" 

"No,  Cutty.  Perhaps  I'm  one  of  those  who  are 
quite  willing  to  wait  patiently.  If  the  one  I  want 
doesn't  come — why,  I'll  be  a  jolly,  philosophical  old 
maid.  No  seconds  or  culls  for  me,  as  the  magazine 
editor  says." 

"Exactly  what  do  you  want?"  Cutty  was  keenly 
curious,  for  some  reason  he  could  not  define.  He 
did  not  care  for  diamonds  as  stones;  but  he  admired 
any  personality  that  flashed  differently  from  each 
new  angle  exposed. 

"Oh,  a  man,  among  other  things.  I  don't  mean 
one  of  those  godlike  chromos  in  the  frontispiece  of 
popular  novels.  He  hasn't  got  to  be  handsome. 
But  he  must  be  able  to  laugh  when  he's  happy,  when 
he's  hurt.  I  must  be  his  business  in  life.  He  must 
know  a  lot  about  things  I  know.  I  want  a  comrade 
who  will  come  to  me  when  he  has  a  joke  or  an  ache. 
A  gay  man  and  whimsical.  The  law  can  make  any 
man  a  husband,  but  only  God  can  make  a  good 
comrade." 

"Kitty,"  said  Cutty,  his  fine  eyes  sparkling,  "I 
shan't  have  to  watch  over  you  so  much  as  I  thought. 


102  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

On  the  other  hand,  you  have  described  me  to  a 
dot." 

"Quite  possibly.  Vanity  has  its  uses.  It  keeps 
us  in  contact  with  bathtubs  and  nice  clothes.  I 
imagine  that  you  would  make  both  husband  and 
comrade;  or  you  would  have,  twenty  years  ago" — 
without  intentional  cruelty.  Wasn't  Cutty  fifty- 
two? 

"Kitty,  you've  touched  a  vital  point.  It  took 
those  twenty  years  to  make  me  companionable. 
Experience  is  something  we  must  buy;  it  isn't  left 
in  somebody's  will.  Let  us  say  that  I  possess  all 
the  necessary  attributes  save  one." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"Youth,  Kitty.  And  take  the  word  of  a  senile  old 
dotard,  your  young  man,  when  you  find  him,  will 
lack  many  of  the  attributes  you  require.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  is  always  the  possibility  that  these 
will  develop  as  you  jog  along.  The  terrible  pity  of 
youth  is  that  it  has  the  habit  of  conferring  these 
attributes  rather  than  finding  them.  You  put  gar- 
lands on  the  heads  of  snow  images,  and  the  first 
glare  of  sunshine — pouf!" 

"Cutty,  I'm  beginning  to  like  you  immensely" — 
smiling.  "Perhaps  women  ought  to  have  two  hus- 
bands— one  young  and  handsome  and  the  other  old 
and  wise  like  yourself." 

Cutty  wished  he  were  alone  in  order  to  analyze 
the  stab.  Old!  When  he  knew  that  mentally  and 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  103 

physically  he  could  take  and  break  a  dozen  Two- 
Hawks.  Old!  He  had  never  thought  himself  that. 
Fifty-two  years;  they  had  piled  up  on  him  without 
his  appreciation  of  the  fullness  of  the  score.  And  yet 
he  was  more  than  a  match  for  any  ordinary  man  of 
thirty  in  sinew  and  brain;  and  no  man  met  the  new 
morning  with  more  zest  than  he  himself  met  it. 
But  to  Kitty  he  was  old!  Lavender  and  oak  leaves 
were  being  draped  on  his  door  knob.  He  laughed. 

"Why  do  you  laugh?" 

"Oh,  because-         Hark!" 

The  two  of  them  ran  to  the  bedroom  door. 

"Olga!  Olga!"  And  then  a  guttural  level  jum- 
ble of  sounds. 

Kitty's  quick  brain  reached  out  for  a  similitude — 
water  rushing  over  ragged  bowlders. 

"  Olga ! "  she  whispered.     "  He  is  a  Russian ! " 

"There  are  Serbian  Olgas  and  Bulgarian  Olgas 
and  Rumanian  Olgas.  Probably  his  sweetheart." 

"The  poor  thing!" 

"Sounds  like  Russian,"  added  Cutty,  his  con- 
science pricking  him.  But  he  welcomed  that  "  Olga." 
It  would  naturally  put  a  damper  on  Kitty's  interest. 
"There's  Harrison  with  the  nurse." 

Quarter  of  an  hour  later  the  patient  was  taken 
down  to  the  ambulance  and  conveyed  to  the  private 
hospital.  Cutty  had  no  way  of  ascertaining  whether 
they  were  followed;  but  he  hoped  they  would  be. 
The  knowledge  that  their  victim  was  in  a  near-by 


104  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

hospital  would  naturally  serve  to  relax  the  enemy 
vigilance  temporarily;  and  this  would  permit  safely 
and  secretly  the  second  leg  of  the  journey — that  to 
his  own  apartment. 

He  decided  to  let  an  hour  go  past;  then  Two-Hawks 
was  taken  through  the  building  to  the  rear  and  trans- 
ferred to  the  truck.  Cutty  sat  with  the  driver  while 
Captain  Harrison  and  the  nurse  rode  inside  with  the 
patient. 

On  the  way  Cutty  was  rather  disturbed  by  the 
deep  impression  Kitty  Conover  had  made  upon  his 
heart  and  mind.  That  afternoon  he  had  looked 
upon  her  with  fatherly  condescension,  as  the  pretty 
daughter  of  the  two  he  had  loved  most.  From  the  al- 
titude of  his  fifty-two  he  had  gazed  down  upon  her 
twenty-four,  weighing  her  as  like  all  young  women 
of  twenty-four — pleasure-loving  and  beau -hunting 
and  fashion-scorched;  and  in  a  flash  she  had  revealed 
the  formed  mind  of  a  woman  of  thirty.  Altitude. 
He  had  forgotten  that  relative  to  altitudes  there  are 
always  two  angles  of  vision — that  from  the  summit 
and  that  from  the  green  valley  below.  Kitty  saw 
him  beyond  the  tree  line,  but  just  this  side  of  the 
snows — and  matched  his  condescension  with  pity! 
He  chuckled.  Doddering  old  ass,  what  did  it  matter 
how  she  looked  at  him? 

Beautiful  and  young  and  full  of  common  sense, 
yet  dangerously  romantical.  To  wait  for  the  man 
she  wanted,  what  did  that  signify  but  romance? 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  105 

And  there  was  her  Irish  blood  to  consider.  The 
association  of  pretty  nurse  and  interesting  patient 
always  afforded  excellent  background  for  senti- 
mental nonsense,  the  obligations  of  the  one  and  the 
gratitude  of  the  other.  Well,  he  had  nipped  that 
in  the  bud. 

And  why  hadn't  he  taken  this  Two-Hawks  person 
— how  easy  it  was  to  fall  into  Kitty's  way  of  naming 
the  chap! — why  hadn't  he  taken  him  directly  to  the 
Roosevelt?  Why  all  this  pother  and  secrecy  over 
a  total  stranger?  Stefani  Gregor,  who  lived  oppo^ 
site  Kitty  and  who  hadn't  prospered  particularly 
since  the  day  he  had  exhibited  the  drums  of  jeopardy 
— he  was  the  reason.  These  were  volcanic  days,  and 
a  friend  of  Stefani  Gregor — who  played  the  violin  like 
Paganini — might  well  be  worth  the  trouble  of  a  little 
courtesy.  Then,  too,  there  was  that  mark  of  the 
thong — a  charm,  a  military  identification  disk  or 
something  of  value.  Whatever  it  was,  the  rogues 
had  got  it.  Murder  and  loot.  And  as  soon  as  he 
returned  to  consciousness  the  young  fellow  would  be 
making  inquiries. 

Perhaps  Kitty's  point  of  view  regarding  a  certain 
duffer  aged  fifty-two  was  nearer  the  truth  than  the 
duffer  himself  realized.  Second  childhood!  As  if 
the  drums  of  jeopardy  would  ever  again  see  light, 
after  that  tempest  of  fire  and  death — that  mud 
volcano! 

One  thing  was  certain — there  would  be  no  more 


106  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

cat-napping.  The  game  was  on  again.  He  was 
assured  of  that  side  of  it. 

Green  stones,  the  sunlight  breaking  against  the 
flaws  in  a  shower  of  golden  sparks;  green  as  the  pulp 
of  a  Champagne  grape;  the  drums  of  jeopardy! 
Murder  and  loot;  he  could  understand. 

Immediately  after  the  patient  was  put  to  bed 
Cutty  changed.  A  nondescript  suit  of  the  day- 
labourer  type  and  a  few  deft  touches  of  coal  dust 
completed  his  make-up. 

"I  shan't  be  back  until  morning,"  he  announced. 
"  Work  to  do.  Kuroki  will  be  at  your  service  through 
the  night,  Miss  Frances.  Strike  that  Burmese  gong 
once,  at  any  hour.  Come  along,  Harrison." 

"Want  any  company?"  asked  Harrison,  with  a 
belligerent  twist  to  his  moustache. 

Cutty  laughed.  "No.  You  run  along  to  your 
lambs.  I'm  running  with  the  wolves  to-night,  old 
scout,  and  you  might  get  that  spick-and-span  uni- 
form considerably  mussed  up.  Besides,  it's  rain- 
ing." 

"But  what's  to  become  of  Miss  Conover?  She 
ought  not  to  remain  alone  in  that  apartment." 

"Well,  well!  I  thought  of  that,  too.  But  she 
can  take  care  of  herself." 

"Those  ruffians  may  call  up  the  hospital  and  learn 
that  we  tricked  them." 

"And  then?" 

"Try  to  force  the  truth  from  Miss  Conover." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  107 

"That's  precisely  the  wherefore  of  this  coal  dust. 
On  your  way!" 

Eleven  o'clock.  Kitty  was  in  the  kitchen,  with- 
out light,  her  chair  by  the  window,  which  she  had 
thrown  up.  She  had  gone  to  bed,  but  sleep  was  im- 
possible. So  she  decided  to  watch  the  Gregor  win- 
dows. 'Sometimes  the  mind  is  like  a  movie  camera 
set  for  a  double  exposure.  The  whole  scene  is  vis- 
ible, but  the  camera  sees  only  half  of  it.  Thus, 
while  she  saw  the  windows  across  the  court  there 
entered  the  other  side  of  her  mind  a  picture  of  the 
immaculate  Cutty  crossing  the  platform  with  Johnny 
Two-Hawks  thrown  over  his  shoulder.  The  mental 
picture  obscured  the  actual. 

She  had  called  him  old.  Well,  he  was  old.  And 
no  doubt  he  looked  upon  her  as  a  child,  wanting  her 
to  spend  the  night  at  a  hotel!  The  affair  was  over. 
No  one  would  bother  Kitty  Conover.  Why  should 
they?  But  it  took  strength  to  shoulder  a  man  like 
that.  What  fun  he  and  her  father  must  have  had 
together!  And  Cutty  had  loved  her  mother!  That 
made  Kitty  exquisitely  tender  for  a  moment.  All 
alone,  at  the  age  when  new  friendships  were  impossi- 
ble. A  lovable  man  like  that  going  down  through 
life  alone ! 

Census  taker  of  alien  undesirables;  a  queer  occupa- 
tion for  a  man  so  famous  as  Cutty.  Patriotism — • 
to  plunge  into  that  seething  revolutionary  scum  to 
sort  the  dangerous  madmen  from  the  harmless  mad* 


108  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

men.  Courage  and  strength  and  mental  resource; 
yes,  Cutty  possessed  these;  and  he  would  be  the  kind 
to  laugh  at  a  joke  or  a  hurt. 

One  thing,  however,  was  indelibly  printed  on  her 
mind.  Stefani  Gregor — either  Cutty  had  met  and 
known  the  man  or  he  had  heard  of  him. 

Suddenly  she  became  conscious  that  she  was 
blinking  as  one  blinks  from  mirror-reflected  sunlight. 
She  cast  about  for  the  source  of  this  phenomenon. 
Obliquely  from  between  the  interstices  of  the  fire- 
escape  platform  came  a  point  of  moving  white  light. 
She  craned  her  neck.  A  battery  lamp!  The  round 
spot  of  light  worked  along  the  cement  floor,  van- 
ished occasionally,  reappeared,  and  then  vanished 
altogether.  Somebody  was  down  there  hunting 
for  something.  What? 

Kitty  remained  with  her  head  out  of  the  window 
for  some  time,  unmindful  of  the  spatter  of  rain. 
But  nothing  happened.  The  man  was  gone.  Of 
course  the  incident  might  not  have  the  slightest 
bearing  upon  the  previous  adventures  of  this  amazing 
night;  still,  it  was  suggestive.  The  young  man 
had  worn  something  round  his  neck.  But  if  his 
enemies  had  it  why  should  this  man  comb  the  court, 
unless  he  was  a  tenant  and  had  knocked  something 
off  a  window  ledge? 

She  began  to  appreciate  that  she  was  very  tired, 
and  decided  to  go  back  to  bed.  This  time  she  fell 
asleep.  Her  disordered  thoughts  rearranged  them- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  109 

selves  in  a  dazzling  dream.  She  found  herself  wan- 
dering through  a  glorious  translucent  green  cavern — 
a  huge  emerald.  And  in  the  distance  she  heard  that 
unmistakable  tumpitum-fr/rap  /  tumpitum-ftmp  /  It 
drew  her  irresistibly.  She  fought  and  struggled 
against  the  fascinating  sound,  but  it  continued  to 
draw  her  on.  Suddenly  from  round  a  corner  came 
the  squat  man,  his  hair  a  la  Fuzzy-Wuzzy.  He 
caught  her  savagely  by  the  shoulder  and  dragged  her 
toward  a  fire  of  blazing  diamonds.  On  the  other 
side  of  that  fire  was  a  blonde  young  woman  with  a 
tiara  of  rubies  on  her  head.  "Save  me!  I  am  Olga, 
Olga!"  Kitty  struggled  fiercely  and  awoke. 

The  light  was  on.  At  the  side  of  her  bed  were 
two  men.  One  of  them  was  holding  her  bare  shoulder 
and  digging  his  fingers  into  it  cruelly.  They  looked 
like  coal  heavers. 

"We  do  not  wish  to  harm  you,  and  won't  if  you're 
sensible.  Where  did  they  take  the  man  you  brought 
here?" 


CHAPTER  XI 

KITTY  did  not  wrench  herself  loose  at  once. 
She  wasn't  quite  sure  that  this  was  not  a 
continuance  of  her  nightmare.     She  knew 
that  nightmares  had  a  way  of  breaking  off  in  the 
middle  of  things,  of  never  arriving  anywhere.     The 
room  looked  natural  enough  and  the  pain  in  her 
shoulder  seemed  real  enough,  but  one  never  could 
tell.     She  decided  to  wait  for  the  next  episode. 

"Answer!"  cried  the  spokesman  of  the  two,  twist- 
ing Kitty's  shoulder.  "Where  did  they  take  him?' 

Awake!  Kitty  wrenched  her  shoulder  away  and 
swept  the  bedclothes  up  to  her  chin.  She  was  thor- 
oughly frightened,  but  her  brain  was  clear.  The 
spark  of  self-preservation  flew  hither  and  about  in 
search  of  expediencies,  temporizations.  She  must 
come  through  this  somehow  with  the  vantage  on  her 
side.  She  could  not  possibly  betray  that  poor  young 
man,  for  that  would  entail  the  betrayal  of  Cutty  also. 
She  saw  but  one  avenue,  the  telephone;  and  these 
two  men  were  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  bed,  between 
her  and  the  door. 

"What  do  you  want?"  Her  throat  was  so  dry 
she  wondered  whether  the  words  were  projected  far 
enough  for  them  to  hear. 

no 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  111 

"We  want  the  address  of  the  wounded  man  you 
brought  into  this  apartment." 

"They  took  him  to  a  hospital.** 

"He  was  taken  away  from  there." 

"He  was?" 

"Yes,  he  was.  You  may  not  know  where,  but 
you  will  know  the  address  of  the  man  who  tricked 
us;  and  that  will  be  sufficient." 

"The  army  surgeon?  He  was  called  in  by  chance. 
I  don't  know  where  he  lives." 

"The  man  in  the  dress  suit." 

"He  was  with  the  surgeon." 

"He  came  first.  Come;  we  have  no  time  to  waste. 
We  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  and  we  hope  you  will 
not  force  us." 

"Will  you  step  out  of  the  room  while  I  dress?" 

"No.  Tell  us  where  the  man  lives,  and  you  can 
have  the  whole  apartment  to  yourself." 

"You  speak  English  very  well." 

"Enough!  Do  you  want  us  to  bundle  you  up 
in  the  bedclothes  and  carry  you  off?  It  will  not  be 
a  pleasant  experience  for  a  pretty  young  woman 
like  yourself.  Something  happened  to  the  man 
you  knew  as  Gregory.  Will  that  make  you  under- 
stand?" 

"You  know  what  abduction  means?" 

"Your  police  will  not  catch  us." 

"But  I  might  give  you  the  wrong  address." 

"Try   it   and   see   what  happens.     Young   lady, 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

this  is  a  bad  affair  for  a  woman  to  be  mixed  up  i&. 
Be  sensible.  We  are  in  a  hurry." 

"Well,  you  seem  to  have  acquired  at  least  one 
American  habit!'*  said  a  gruff  voice  from  the  bed- 
room doorway.  "Raise  your  hands  quickly,  and 
don't  turn,"  went  on  the  gruff  voice.  "If  I  shoot 
it  will  be  to  kill.  It  is  a  rough  game,  as  you  say. 
That's  it;  and  keep  them  up.  Now,  then,  young 
lady,  slip  on  your  kimono.  Get  up  and  search 
these  men.  I'm  in  a  hurry,  too." 

Kitty  obeyed,  very  lovely  in  her  dishevelment. 
Repugnant  as  the  task  was  she  disarmed  the  two 
men  and  flung  their  weapons  on  the  bed. 

"Now  something  to  tie  their  hands;  anything  that 
will  hold." 

Kitty  could  see  the  speaker  now.  Another  coal 
heaver,  but  evidently  on  her  side. 

"Tie  their  hands  behind  them.  ...  I  warn 
you  not  to  move,  men.  When  I  say  I'll  shoot  I 
mean  it.  Don't  be  afraid  of  hurting  them,  miss. 
Very  good.  Now  bandage  their  eyes.  Handker- 
chiefs." 

But  Kitty's  handkerchiefs  did  not  run  to  the 
dimensions  required;  so  she  ripped  up  a  petticoat. 
Torn  between  her  eagerness  to  complete  a  disagree- 
able task  and  her  offended  modesty,  Kitty  went 
through  the  performance  with  creditable  alacrity. 
Then  she  jumped  back  into  bed,  doubled  her  knees, 
and  once  more  drew  up  the  bedclothes  to  her  chin. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  113 

content  to  be  a  spectator,  her  eyes  as  wide  as  ever 
they  possibly  could  be. 

Some  secret-service  man  Cutty  had  sent  to  protect 
her.  Dear  old  Cutty!  Small  wonder  he  had  urged 
her  to  spend  the  night  at  a  hotel.  The  admiration 
of  her  childhood  returned,  but  without  the  shackles 
of  shyness.  She  had  always  trusted  him  absolutely, 
and  to  this  trust  was  now  added  understanding. 
To  have  him  pop  into  her  life  again  in  this  fashion, 
afl  the  ordinary  approaches  to  intimacy  wiped  out 
by  these  amazing  episodes;  the  years  bridged  in  an 
hour!  If  only  he  were  younger! 

"Watch  them,  miss.  Don't  be  afraid  to  shoot. 
I'll  return  in  a  moment" — still  gruffly.  The  secret- 
service  man  pushed  his  prisoners  into  chairs  and  left 
the  bedroom. 

Kitty  did  not  care  how  gruff  the  voice  was;  it  was 
decidedly  pleasant  in  her  ears.  Gingerly  she  picked 
up  one  of  the  revolvers.  Kitty  Conover  with  shoot- 
ing irons  in  her  hands,  like  a  movie  actress!  She 
heard  a  whistle.  After  this  an  interval  of  silence, 
save  for  the  ticking  of  the  alarm  clock  on  the  stand. 
She  eyed  the  blindfolded  men  speculatively,  swung 
out  of  bed,  and  put  on  her  stockings  and  sandals; 
then  she  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  waited  for  the 
sequence.  Kitty  Conover  was  going  to  have  some 
queer  recollections  to  tell  her  grandchildren,  provid- 
ing she  had  any.  That  morning  she  had  risen  to  face 
a  humdrum  normal  day.  And  here  she  was,  at  mid- 


114  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

night,  hobnobbing  with  quiescent  murder  and  sud- 
den death!  To-morrow  Burlingame  would  ask  her 
to  hustle  up  the  Sunday  stuff,  and  she  would  hustle. 
She  wanted  to  laugh,  but  was  a  little  afraid  that  this 
laughter  might  degenerate  into  incipient  hysteria. 

There  was  still  hi  her  mind  a  vivid  recollection  of 
her  dream — the  fire  of  diamonds  and  the  blonde  girl 
with  the  tiara  of  rubies.  Olga,  Olga!  Russian; 
the  whole  affair  was  Russian.  She  shivered.  Al- 
ways that  land  and  people  had  appeared  to  her  in 
sinister  aspect;  no  doubt  an  impression  acquired 
from  reading  melodramas  written  by  Englishmen 
who,  once  upon  a  time,  had  given  Russia  preeminence 
as  a  political  menace.  Russia,  in  all  things — music, 
art,  literature — the  tragic  note.  Stefani  Gregor  and 
Johnny  Two-Hawks  had  roused  the  enmity  of  some 
political  society  with  this  result.  Nihilist  or  Bol- 
shevist or  socialist,  there  was  little  choice;  and  Cutty 
sensibly  did  not  want  her  drawn  into  the  whirlpool. 

What  a  pleasant  intimacy  hers  and  Cutty's  prom- 
ised to  be!  And  if  he  hadn't  casually  dropped  into 
the  office  that  afternoon  she  would  have  surrendered 
the  affair  to  the  police,  and  that  would  have  been  the 
end  of  it.  Amazing  thought — you  might  jog  along 
all  your  life  at  the  side  of  a  person  and  never  know 
him  half  so  well  as  someone  you  met  in  a  tense  epi- 
sode, like  that  of  the  immaculate  Cutty  crossing  the 
fire  escape  with  Two-Hawks  on  his  shoulders ! 

She  heard  the  friendly  coal  heaver  going  down  the 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  115 

corridor  to  the  door.  When  he  returned  to  the  bed- 
room two  men  accompanied  him.  Not  a  word  was 
said.  The  two  men  marched  off  with  the  prisoners 
and  left  Kitty  alone  with  her  saviour. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  simply. 

"You  .poor  little  chicken,  did  you  believe  I  had 
deserted  you?"  The  voice  wasn't  gruff  now. 

"Cutty?"  Kitty  ran  to  him,  flinging  her  arms 
round  his  neck.  "Oh,  Cutty!" 

Cutty's  heart,  which  had  bumped  along  an  aston- 
ishing number  of  million  times  in  fifty-two  years, 
registered  a  memorable  bump  against  his  ribs.  The 
touch  of  her  soft  arms  and  the  faint,  indescribable 
perfume  which  emanates  from  a  dainty  woman's 
hair  thrilled  him  beyond  any  thrill  he  had  ever  known. 
For  Kitty's  mother  had  never  put  her  arms  round  old 
Cutty's  neck.  Of  course  he  understood  readily 
enough:  Molly's  girl,  flesh  of  her  flesh.  And  she 
had  rushed  to  him  as  she  would  have  rushed  to  her 
father.  He  patted  her  shoulder  clumsily,  still  a  little 
dazzled  for  all  the  revelation  in  the  analysis.  The 
sweet  intimacy  of  it!  The  door  of  Paradise  opened 
for  a  moment,  and  then  shut  in  his  face. 

"I  did  not  recognize  you  at  all!"  she  cried,  stand- 
ing off.  "I  shouldn't  have  known  you  on  the  street. 
And  it  is  so  simple.  What  a  wonderful  man  you 
are!" 

"For  an  old  codger?"  Cutty's  heart  registered  an- 
other sizable  bump. 


116  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Kitty  laughed.  "Never  call  yourself  old  to  me 
again.  Are  you  always  doing  these  things?" 

"Well,  I  keep  moving.  I  suspected  something 
like  this  might  happen.  Those  two  will  go  to  the 
Tombs  to  await  deportation  if  they  are  aliens. 
Perhaps  we  can  dig  something  out  of  them  relative 
to  this  man  Gregor.  Anyhow,  we'll  try." 

"Cutty,  I  saw  a  man  in  the  court  with  a  pocket 
lamp  before  I  went  to  bed.  He  was  hunting  for 
something." 

"I  didn't  find  anything  but  a  lot  of  fresh  food 
someone  had  thrown  out." 

"It  was  you,  then?" 

"Yes.  There  was  a  vague  possibility  that  your 
protege  might  have  thrown  out  something  valuable 
during  the  struggle." 

"What?" 

"Lord  knows!  A  queer  business,  Kitty,  you've 
lugged  me  into — my  own!  And  there  is  one  thing 
I  want  you  to  remember  particularly:  Life  means 
nothing  to  the  men  opposed,  neither  chivalry  nor 
ethics.  Annihilation  is  their  business.  They  don't 
want  civilization;  they  want  chaos.  They  have 
lost  the  sense  of  comparisons  or  they  would  not  seek 
to  thrust  Bolshevism  down  the  throats  of  the  rest  of 
the  world.  They  say  democracy  has  failed,  and  their 
substitute  is  murder  and  loot.  Kitty,  I  want  you 
to  leave  this  roost." 

"I  shall  stay  until  my  lease  expires." 


Raise  your  hands  and  don't  turn 
it  will  be  to  kill 


If  I  shoot 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  117 

"  Why  ?    In  the  face  of  real  danger  ? ' ' 

"Because  I  intend  to,  Cutty — unless  you  kidnap 
me." 

"Have  you  any  good  reason?" 

"You'll  laugh;  but  something  tells  me  to  stay  here." 

But  Cutty  did  not  laugh.  "Very  well.  To- 
morrow an  assistant  janitor  will  be  installed.  His 
name  is  Antonio  Bernini.  Every  night  he  will 
whistle  up  the  tube.  Whistle  back.  If  you  are 
going  out  for  the  evening  notify  him  where  you  intend 
to  go  and  when  you  expect  to  be  back.  A  wire 
from  your  bed  to  his  cot  will  be  installed.  In  danger, 
press  the  button.  That's  the  best  I  can  do  for  you, 
since  you  decide  to  stick.  I  don't  believe  anything 
more  will  happen  to-night,  but  from  now  on  you  will 
be  watched.  Never  come  directly  to  my  apartment. 
Break  your  journey  two  or  three  times  with  taxis. 
Always  use  Elevator  Four.  The  boy  is  mine;  be- 
longs to  the  service.  So  our  Bolshevik  friends  won't 
gather  anything  about  you  from  him." 

Asa  matter  of  fact,  Cutty  had  now  come  to  the  con- 
viction that  it  would  be  well  to  let  Kitty  remain 
here  as  a  lure.  He  had  urged  her  to  leave,  and  she 
had  refused,  so  his  conscience  was  tolerably  clear. 
Besides,  she  would  henceforth  be  guarded  with  a 
ceaseless  efficiency  second  only  to  that  which  encom- 
passes a  President  of  the  United  States.  Always 
some  man  of  the  service  would  be  watching  those 
who  watched  her.  This  was  going  to  develop  into  a 


118 

game  of  small  nets,  one  or  two  victims  at  a  time. 
Because  these  enemies  of  civilization  lacked  coher- 
ence in  action  there  would  be  slim  chance  of  round- 
ing them  up  in  bulk.  But  from  now  on  men  would 
vanish — one  here,  a  pair  there,  perhaps  on  occasion 
four  or  five.  And  those  who  had  known  them  would 
know  them  no  more.  The  policy  would  be  that  em- 
ployed by  the  British  in  the  submarine  campaign — • 
mysterious  silence  after  the  evanishment. 

"It's  all  so  exciting!"  said  Kitty.  "But  that 
poor  old  man  Gregor!  He  had  a  wonderful  violin, 
Cutty;  and  sometimes  I  used  to  hear  him  play  folk- 
lore music — sad,  haunting  melodies." 

"We'll  know  in  a  little  while  what's  become  of  him. 
I  doubt  there  is  a  foreign  organization  in  the  city 
that  hasn't  one  or  more  of  our  men  on  the  inside* 
A  'word  will  be  dropped  somewhere.  I'm  rarely 
active  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic;  and  what  I'm 
doing  now  is  practically  due  to  interest.  But  every 
active  operative  in  New  York,  Boston,  Philadelphia, 
and  Chicago  is  on  the  lookout  for  a  man  who,  if 
left  free,  will  stir  up  a  lot  of  trouble.  He  has  leader- 
ship, this  Boris  Karlov,  a  former  intimate  here  of 
Trotzky's.  We  have  reason  to  believe  that  he 
slipped  through  the  net  in  San  Francisco.  Probably 
under  a  cleverly  forged  passport.  Now  please  de- 
scribe the  man  who  came  in  with  the  policeman.  I 
haven't  had  time  to  make  inquiries  at  the  precinct, 
where  they  will  have  a  minute  description  of  him." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  119 

"He  made  me  think  of  a  gorilla,  just  as  I  told  you. 
His  face  was  pretty  well  banged  up.  Naturally  I 
did  not  notice  any  scar.  A  dreadfully  black  beard, 
shaven." 

"Squat,  powerful,  like  a  gorilla.  Lord,  I  wish  I'd 
had  a  glimpse  of  him !  He's  one  of  the  few  topnotch- 
ers  I  haven't  met.  He's  the  spark,  the  hand  on  the 
plunger.  The  powder  is  all  ready  in  this  land  of  ours ; 
our  job  is  to  keep  off  the  sparks  until  we  can  spread 
the  stuff  so  it  will  only  go  puff  instead  of  bang.  This 
man  Karlov  is  bad  medicine  for  democracy.  Poor 
devil!" 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Because  I'm  honestly  sorry  for  them.  This 
fellow  Karlov  has  suffered.  He  is  now  a  species  of 
madman  nothing  will  cure.  He  and  his  kind  have 
gained  their  ends  in  Russia,  but  the  impetus  to  kill 
and  burn  and  loot  is  still  unchecked.  Sorry,  yes; 
but  we  can't  have  them  here.  They  remind  me  of 
nothing  so  much  as  those  blind  deep-sea  monsters 
in  one  of  Kipling's  tales,  thrown  up  into  air  and  sun- 
light by  a  submarine  volcano,  slashing  and  bellowing. 
But  we  can't  have  them  here  any  longer.  Keep 
those  revolvers  under  your  pillow.  All  you  have 
to  do  is  to  point.  Nobody  will  know  that  you  can't 
shoot.  And  always  remember,  we're  watching  over 
you.  Good-night." 

"Mouquin's  for  lunch?" 

"Well,  I'll  be  hanged!     But  it  can't  be,  Kitty. 


120  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

You  and  I  must  not  be  seen  in  public.  If  that  was 
Karlov  you  will  be  marked,  and  so  will  any  one  who 
travels  with  you." 

"Good  gracious!" 

"Fact.  But  come  up  to  the  roost — changing 
taxis — to-morrow  at  five  and  have  tea." 

Down  in  the  street  Cutty  bore  into  the  slanting 
rain,  no  longer  a  drizzle.  With  his  hands  jammed  in 
his  side  pockets  and  his  gaze  on  the  sparkling  pave- 
ment he  continued  downtown,  in  a  dangerously  rumi- 
native frame  of  mind,  dangerous  because  had  he  been 
followed  he  would  not  have  known  it. 

Molly  Conover's  girl!  That  afternoon  it  had 
been  Tommy  Conover's  girl;  now  she  was  Molly's. 
It  occurred  to  him  for  the  first  time  that  he  was  one 
of  those  unfortunate  individuals  who  are  always  able 
to  open  the  door  to  Paradise  for  others  and  are  them- 
selves forced  to  remain  outside.  Hadn't  he  intro- 
duced Conover  to  Molly,  and  hadn't  they  fallen  in 
love  on  the  spot?  Too  old  to  be  a  hero  and  not  old 
enough  to  die.  He  grinned.  Some  day  he  would 
use  that  line. 

Of  course  it  wasn't  Kitty  who  set  this  peculiar 
cogitation  in  motion.  It  wasn't  her  arms  and  the 
perfume  of  her  hair.  The  actual  thrill  had  come 
from  a  recrudescence  of  a  vanished  passion;  any- 
how, a  passion  that  had  been  held  suspended  all  these 
years.  Still,  it  offered  a  disquieting  prospect.  He 
was  sensible  enough  to  realize  that  he  would  be  in 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

for  some  confusion  in  trying  to  disassociate  the  phan- 
tom from  the  quick. 

Most  pretty  young  women  were  flitter-flutters, 
unstable,  shallow,  immature.  But  this  little  lady 
had  depth,  the  sense  of  the  living  drama;  and,  Lord, 
she  was  such  a  beauty!  Wanted  a  man  who  would 
laugh  when  he  was  happy  and  when  he  was  hurt. 
A  bull's-eye — bang,  like  that!  For  the  only  breed 
worth  its  salt  was  the  kind  that  laughed  when 
happy  and  when  hurt. 

The  average  young  woman,  rushing  into  his  arms 
the  way  she  had,  would  not  have  stirred  him  hi  the 
least.  And  immediately  upon  the  heels  of  this 
thought  came  a  taste  of  the  confusion  he  saw  in  store 
for  himself.  Was  it  the  phantom  or  Kitty?  He 
jumped  to  another  angle  to  escape  the  impasse. 
Kitty's  coming  to  him  hi  that  fashion  raised  an 
unpalatable  suggestion.  He  evidently  looked  fath- 
erly, no  matter  how  he  felt.  Hang  these  fifty- 
two  years,  to  come  crowding  his  doorstep  all  at 
once! 

He  raised  his  head  and  laughed.  He  suddenly 
remembered  now.  At  nine  that  night  he  had  been 
scheduled  to  deliver  a  lecture  on  the  Italo-Jugoslav 
muddle  before  a  distinguished  audience  in  the  ball- 
room of  a  famous  hotel !  He  would  have  some  fancy 
apologizing  to  do  in  the  morning. 

He  stepped  into  a  doorway,  then  peered  out  cau- 
tiously. There  was  not  a  single  pedestrian  in  sight. 


122  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

No  need  of  hiking  any  further  in  this  ram;  so  he 
hunted  for  a  taxi.  To-morrow  he  would  set  the  wires 
humming  relative  to  old  Stefani  Gregor.  Boris  Kar- 
lov,  if  indeed  it  were  he,  would  lead  the  way.  Hadn't 
Stefani  and  Boris  been  boyhood  friends,  and  hadn't 
Stefani  betrayed  the  latter  in  some  political  affair? 
He  wasn't  sure;  but  a  glance  among  his  1912  notes 
would  clear  up  the  fog. 

But  that  young  chap!  Who  was  he?  Cutty  set 
his  process  of  logical  deduction  moving.  Karlov — 
always  supposing  that  gorilla  was  Karlov — had  come 
in  from  the  west.  So  had  the  young  man.  Gregor's 
inclinations  had  been  toward  the  aristocracy;  at 
least,  that  had  been  the  impression.  A  Bolshevik 
would  not  seek  haven  with  a  man  like  Gregor,  as  this 
young  man  had.  But  Two-Hawks  bothered  him; 
the  name  bothered  him,  because  it  had  no  sense 
either  in  English  or  in  Russian.  And  yet  he  was 
sure  he  had  heard  it  somewhere.  Perhaps  his  notes 
would  throw  some  light  on  that  subject,  too. 

When  he  arrived  home  Miss  Frances,  the  nurse, 
informed  him  that  the  patient  was  babbling  in  an 
outlandish  tongue.  For  a  long  time  Cutty  stood 
hy  the  bedside,  translating. 

"Olga!  .  .  .  Olga!  .  .  .  And  she  gave 
me  food,  Stefani,  this  charming  American  girl. 
Never  must  we  forget  that.  I  was  hungry,  and  she 
gave  me  food.  .  .  .  But  I  paid  for  it.  ... 
You,  gone,  there  was  no  one  else.  .  .  .  And  she 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  123 

is  poor.  .  .  .  The  torches !  .  .  .  I  am  burn- 
ing, burning!  .  .  .  Olga!" 

"What  does  he  say?"  asked  the  nurse. 

" It  is  Russian.     Is  it  a  crisis? "  he  evaded. 

"Not  necessarily.  Doctor  Harrison  said  he  would 
probably  return  to  consciousness  sometime  to- 
morrow. But  he  must  have  absolute  quiet.  No 
visitors.  A  bad  blow,  but  not  of  fatal  consequence. 
I've  seen  hundreds  of  cases  much  worse  pull  out  in  a 
fortnight.  You'd  better  go  to  bed,  sir." 

"All  right,"  said  Cutty,  gratefully.  He  was  tired. 
The  ball  did  not  rebound  as  it  used  to;  the  resilience 
was  petering  out.  But  look  alive,  there!  Big 
events  were  toward,  and  he  must  not  stop  to  feel  of 
his  pulse. 

Three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

The  man  in  the  Gregor  bedroom  sat  down  on  the 
bed,  the  pocket  lamp  dangling  from  his  hairy  fingers. 
Not  a  nook  or  cranny  in  the  apartment  had  he  over- 
looked. In  every  cupboard,  drawer;  in  the  beds  and 
under;  the  trunks;  behind  the  radiators  and  the  pic- 
tures; the  shelves  and  clothes  in  the  closets.  What 
he  sought  he  had  not  found. 

His  vengeance  would  not  be  complete  without 
those  green  stones  in  his  hands.  Anna  would  call 
from  her  grave.  Pretty  little  Anna,  who  had  trusted 
Stefani  Gregor,  and  gone  to  her  doom. 

All  these  thousands  of  miles,  by  hook  and  crook, 


124  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

by  forged  passports,  by  sums  of  money,  sleepless 
nights  and  hungry  days — for  this !  The  last  of  that 
branch  of  the  breed  out  of  his  reach,  and  the  stones 
vanished !  A  queer  superstition  had  taken  lodgment 
in  his  brain;  he  recognized  it  now  for  the  first  time. 
The  possession  of  those  stones  would  be  a  sign  from 
God  to  go  on.  Green  stones  for  bread!  Green 
stones  for  bread!  The  drums  of  jeopardy!  In  his 
hands  they  would  be  talismanic. 

But  wait!  That  pretty  girl  across  the  way.  Sup- 
posing he  had  intrusted  the  stones  to  her?  Or 
hidden  them  there  without  her  being  aware  of  it? 


CHAPTER  XII 

KITTY  CONOVER  ate  in  the  kitchen.  First 
off,  this  statement  is  likely  to  create  the  false 
impression  that  there  was  an  ordinary  grain 
here,  a  wedge  of  base  hemlock  in  the  citron.  Not  so. 
She  ate  in  the  kitchen  because  she  could  not  yet  face 
that  vacant  chair  in  the  dining  room  without  chok- 
ing and  losing  her  appetite.  She  could  not  look  at 
the  chair  without  visualizing  that  glorious,  whimsical, 
fascinating  mother  of  hers,  who  could  turn  grumpy 
janitors  into  comedians  and  send  importunate  bill 
collectors  away  with  nothing  but  spangles  in  their, 
heads. 

So  long  as  she  stayed  out  of  the  dining  room  she 
could  accept  her  loneliness  with  sound  philosophy. 
She  knew,  as  all  sensible  people  know,  that  there 
were  ghosts,  that  memory  had  haunted  galleries, 
and  that  empty  chairs  were  evocations. 

Her  days  were  so  busily  active,  there  were  so 
many  first  nights  and  concerts,  that  she  did  not 
mind  such  evenings  as  she  had  to  spend  alone  in  the 
apartment.  Persons  were  in  and  out  of  the  office 
all  through  the  day,  and  many  of  them  entertaining. 
For  only  real  persons  ever  penetrated  that  well- 
guarded  cubby-hole  off  the  noisy  city  room.  Many 


126  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

of  them  were  old  friends  of  her  mother.  Of  course 
they  were  a  little  pompous,  but  this  was  less  innate 
than  acquired;  and  she  knew  that  below  they  were 
worth  while.  She  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
successful  actors  and  actresses  were  the  only  people 
in  America  who  spoke  English  fluently  and  cor- 
rectly. 

Yes,  she  ate  in  the  kitchen;  but  she  would  have 
been  a  fit  subject  for  the  fastidious  Fragonard. 
Kitty  was  naturally  an  exquisite.  Everything  about 
her  was  dainty,  her  body  and  her  mind.  The  back- 
ground of  pans  and  dishes,  gas  range  and  sink  did 
not  absorb  Kitty;  her  presence  here  in  the  morning 
lifted  everything  out  of  the  rut  of  commonplace 
and  created  an  atmosphere  that  was  ornamental. 
Pink  peignoir  and  turquoise-blue  boudoir  cap,  silk 
petticoat  and  stockings  and  adorable  little  slippers. 
No  harm  to  tell  the  secret!  Kitty  was  educating 
herself  for  a  husband.  She  knew  that  if  she  ac- 
quired the  habit  of  daintiness  at  breakfast  before 
marriage  it  would  become  second  nature  after  mar- 
riage. Moreover,  she  was  determined  that  it  should 
be  tremendous  news  that  would  cause  a  newspaper 
to  intervene.  She  had  all  the  confidence  in  the  world 
in  her  mirror. 

She  got  her  breakfast  this  morning,  singing.  She 
was  happy.  She  had  found  a  door  out  of  monotony; 
theatrical  drama  had  given  way  to  the  living.  She 
had  opened  the  book  of  adventure  and  she  was  going 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  127 

straight  through  to  finis.  That  there  was  an  under- 
tow of  the  sinister  escaped  her  or  she  ignored  it. 

In  all  high-strung  Irish  souls  there  is  a  bit  of  the 
old  wife,  the  foreteller;  the  gift  of  prescience;  and 
Kitty  possessed  this  in  a  mild  degree.  Something 
held  her  here,  when  for  a  dozen  reasons  she  should 
have  gone  elsewhere. 

She  strained  the  coffee,  humming  a  tune  out  of 
The  Mikado,  the  revival  of  which  she  had  seen 
lately: 

My  object  aJl  sublime 

I  shall  achieve  in  time 
To  make  the  punishment  fit  the  crime. 

The  punishment  fit  the  crime. 

And  make  the  prisoner  pent 

Unwillingly  represent 
A  source  of  innocent  merriment. 

Of  innocent  merriment ! 

And  there  you  were !  To  make  the  punishment  fit 
the  crime.  Wall  in  the  Bolsheviki,  the  I.  W.  W.'s, 
the  Red  Socialist,  the  anarchists — and  let  them  try 
it  for  ten  years.  Those  left  would  be  glad  enough  to 
embrace  democracy  and  sanity.  The  poor  benighted 
things,  to  imagine  that  they  were  going  forward  there 
in  Russia!  What  kind  of  mentality  was  it  that  could 
conceive  a  blessing  to  humanity  in  the  abolition  of 
baths  and  work?  And  Cutty  felt  sorry  for  them. 
Well,  as  for  that,  so  did  Kitty  Conover;  and  she 
would  continue  feeling  sorry  for  them  so  long  as  they 


128  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

remained  thousands  of  miles  away.  But  next 
door! 

"Grapefruit,  eggs  on  toast,  and  coffee;  mademoi- 
selle is  served!"  she  cried,  gayly,  sitting  down  and 
attacking  her  breakfast  with  the  zest  of  healthy 
youth. 

Often  the  eyes  are  like  the  lenses  of  a  camera 
minus  the  sensitized  plate;  they  see  objects  without 
printing  them.  Thus  a  dozen  tunes  Kitty's  glance 
absently  swept  the  range  and  the  racks  on  each  side 
of  the  stovepipe,  one  rack  burdened  with  an  empty 
pancake  jug  and  the  other  cluttered  with  old-fash- 
ioned flatirons;  but  she  saw  nothing. 

She  was  carefully  reviewing  the  events  of  the  night 
before.  She  could  not  dismiss  the  impression  that 
Cutty  knew  Stefani  Gregor  or  had  heard  of  him; 
and  in  either  case  it  signified  that  Gregor  was  some- 
thing more  than  a  valet.  And  decidedly  Two- 
Hawks  was  not  of  the  Russian  peasantry. 

By  the  time  she  was  ready  to  leave  for  the  office 
the  Irish  blood  in  her  was  seething  and  bubbling 
and  dancing.  She  knew  she  would  do  crazy,  impul- 
sive things  all  day.  It  was  easy  to  analyze  this  ex- 
uberance. She  had  reached  out  into  the  dark  and 
touched  danger,  and  found  a  new  thrill  in  a  hum- 
drum world. 

The  Great  Dramatist  had  produced  a  tremendous 
drama  and  she  had  watched  curtain  after  curtain 
fall  from  the  wrong  side  of  the  lights.  Now  she 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  129 

had  been  given  a  speaking  part;  and  she  would 
be  down  stage  for  a  moment  or  two — dusting  the 
furniture — while  the  stars  were  retouching  their 
make-up.  It  was  not  the  thought  of  Cutty,  of 
Gregor,  of  Johnny  Two-Hawks,  of  hidden  treasure; 
simply  she  had  arrived  somewhere  in  the  great 
drama. 

When  she  reached  the  office  she  had  a  hard  time  of 
it  to  settle  down  to  the  day's  work. 

"Hustle  up  that  Sunday  stuff,"  said  Burlingame. 
Kitty  laughed.  Just  as  she  had  pictured  it.  She 
hustled. 

"I  have  it!"  she  cried,  breaking  a  spell  of  silence. 

"What — St.  Vitus?"  inquired  Burlingame,  pa- 
tiently. 

"No;  the  Morgue!" 

"What  the  dickens !" 

But  Kitty  was  no  longer  there  to  answer. 

In  all  newspaper  offices  there  is  a  department 
flippantly  designated  as  the  Morgue.  Obituaries 
on  ice,  as  it  were.  A  photograph  or  an  item  con- 
cerning a  great  man,  a  celebrated,  beauty  or  some 
notorious  rogue;  from  the  king  calibre  down  to 
Gyp-the-Blood  brand,  all  indexed  and  laid  away 
against  the  instant  need.  So,  running  her  finger  tip 
down  the  K's,  Kitty  found  Karlov.  The  half  tone 
which  she  eventually  exhumed  from  the  tin  box  was 
an  excellent  likeness  of  the  human  gorilla  who  had 
entered  her  rooms  with  the  policeman.  She  would 


130  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

be  able  to  carry  this  positive  information  to  Cutty 
that  afternoon. 

When  she  left  the  office  at  four  she  took  the  Sub- 
way to  Forty-second  Street.  She  engaged  a  taxi 
from  the  Knickerbocker  and  discharged  it  at  the 
north  entrance  to  the  Waldorf,  which  she  entered. 
She  walked  through  to  the  south  entrance  and  got 
into  another  taxi.  She  left  this  at  Wanamaker's, 
ducking  and  dodging  through  the  crowded  aisles. 
She  selected  this  hour  because,  being  a  woman,  she 
knew  that  the  press  of  shoppers  would  be  the  great- 
est during  the  day.  Karlov's  man  and  the  secret- 
service  operative  detailed  by  Cutty  both  made  the 
same  mistake — followed  Kitty  into  the  dry-goods 
shop  and  lost  her  as  completely  as  if  she  had  popped 
up  in  China.  At  quarter  to  five  she  stepped  into 
Elevator  Number  Four  of  the  building  which  Cutty 
called  his  home,  very  well  pleased  with  herself. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

TO  UNDERSTAND  Kitty  at  this  moment 
one  must  be  able  to  understand  the  Irish; 
and  nobody  does  or  can  or  will.  Consider 
her  twenty-four  years,  her  corpuscular  inheritance, 
the  love  of  drama  and  the  love  of  adventure.  Im- 
agine possessing  sound  ideas  of  life  and  the  ability 
to  apply  them,  and  spiritually  always  galloping  off 
on  some  broad  highway — more  often  than  not  fur- 
nished by  some  engaging  scoundrel  of  a  novelist — 
and  you  will  be  able  to  construct  a  half  tone  of  Kitty 
Conover. 

That  civilization  might  be  actually  on  its  deathbed, 
that  positively  half  of  the  world  was  starving  and 
dying  and  going  mad  through  the  reaction  of  the 
German  blight  touched  her  in  a  detached  way.  She 
felt  sorry,  dreadfully  sorry,  for  the  poor  things;  but 
as  she  could  not  help  them  she  dismissed  them  from 
her  thoughts  every  morning  after  she  had  read  the 
paper,  the  way  most  of  us  do  here  in  these  United 
States.  You  cannot  grapple  with  the  misery  of  an 
unknown  person  several  thousand  miles  away. 

That  which  had  taken  place  during  the  past 
twenty-four  hours  was  to  her  a  lark,  a  blindman's 
buff  for  grown-ups.  It  was  not  in  her  to  tremble, 

131 


132  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

to  shudder,  to  hesitate,  to  weigh  this  and  to  balance 
that.  Irish  curiosity.  Perhaps  in  the  original  that 
immortal  line  read:  "The  Irish  rush  in  where 
angels  fear  to  tread,"  and  some  proofreader  had  a 
particular  grudge  against  the  race. 

When  the  elevator  reached  the  seventeenth  floor, 
the  passengers  surged  forth.  All  except  Kitty,  who 
tarried. 

"We  don't  carry  to  the  eighteenth,  miss." 

"I  am  Miss  Conover,"  she  replied.  "I  dared  not 
tell  you  until  we  were  alone." 

"I  see."  The  boy  nodded,  swept  her  with  an  ap« 
praising  glance,  and  sent  the  elevator  up  to  the 
loft. 

"You  understand?  If  any  one  inquires  about  me, 
you  don't  remember." 

"  Yes,  miss.     The  boss's  orders." 

"And  if  any  one  does  inquire  you  are  to  report  at 
once." 

"That,  too." 

The  boy  rolled  back  the  door  and  Kitty  stepped 
out  upon  a  Laristan  runner  of  rose  hues  and  cobalt 
blue.  She  wondered  what  it  cost  Cutty  to  keep  up 
an  establishment  like  this.  There  were  fourteen 
rooms,  seven  facing  the  north  and  seven  facing  the 
west,  with  glorious  vistas  of  steam-wreathed  roofs 
and  brick  Matterhorns  and  the  dim  horizon  touching 
the  sea.  Fine  rugs  and  tapestries  and  furniture 
gathered  from  the  four  ends  of  the  world;  but 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

wholly  livable  and  in  no  sense  atmospheric  of  the 
museum.  Cutty  had  excellent  taste. 

She  had  visited  the  apartment  but  twice  before, 
once  in  her  childhood  and  again  when  she  was  eigh- 
teen. Cutty  had  given  a  dinner  in  honour  of  her 
mother's  birthday.  She  smiled  as  she  recalled  the 
incident.  Cutty  had  placed  a  box  of  candles  at  the 
side  of  her  mother's  plate  and  told  her  to  stick  as 
many  into  the  cake  as  she  thought  best. 

"Hello!"  said  Cutty,  emerging  from  one  of  the 
doors.  "What  the  dickens  have  you  been  up  to? 
My  man  has  just  telephoned  me  that  he  lost  track 
of  you  in  Wanamaker's." 

Kitty  explained,  delighted. 

"Well,  well!  If  you  can  lose  a  man  such  as  I 
set  to  watch  you,  you'll  have  no  trouble  shaking  the 
others." 

"It  was  Karlov,  Cutty." 

"How  did  you  learn?" 

"Searched  the  morgue  and  found  a  half  tone  of 
him.  Positively  Karlov.  How  is  the  patient?  " 

"Harrison  says  he's  pulling  round  amazingly.  A 
tough  skull.  He'll  be  up  for  his  meals  in  no  time." 

"How  do  you  do  it?"  she  asked  with  a  gesture. 

"Do  what?" 

"Manage  a  place  like  this?  In  a  busy  office  dis- 
trict. It's  the  most  wonderful  apartment  in  New 
York.  Riverside  has  nothing  like  it.  It  must  cost 
like  sixty." 


134  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"The  building  is  mine,  Kitty.  That  makes  it 
possible.  An  uncle  who  knew  I  hated  money  and 
the  responsibilities  that  go  with  it,  died  and  left  it 
to  me." 

"Why,  Cutty,  you  must  be  rich!" 

"I'm  sorry.  What  can  I  do?  I  can't  give  it 
away." 

"But  you  don't  have  to  work!" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do.  I'm  that  kind.  I'd  die  of  a 
broken  heart  if  I  had  to  sit  still.  It's  the  game." 

"Did  mother  know?" 

"Yes." 

With  the  toe  of  a  snug  little  bronze  boot  Kitty 
drew  an  outline  round  a  pattern  in  the  rug. 

"Love  is  a  funny  thing,"  was  her  comment. 

"It  sure  is,  old-timer.  But  what  put  the  thought 
into  your  head?" 

"I  was  thinking  how  very  much  mumsy  must 
have  been  in  love  with  father." 

"But  she  never  knew  that  I  loved  her,  Batty." 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?  If  she  had 
wanted  money  you  wouldn't  have  had  the  least 
chance  in  the  world." 

"  Probably  not !  But  what  would  you  have  done  in 
your  mother's  place?" 

"Snapped  you  up  like  that!"  Kitty  flashed  back. 

"You  cheerful  little— little— 

"Liar.  Say  it!"  Kitty  laughed.  "But  am  I  a 
cheerful  little  liar?  I  don't  know.  It  would  be  an 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  135 

awful  temptation.  Somebody  to  wait  on  you; 
heaps  of  flowers  when  you  wanted  them;  beautiful 
gowns  and  thingummies  and  furs  and  limousines. 
I've  often  wondered  what  I  should  do  if  I  found  my- 
self with  love  and  youth  on  one  side  and  money  and 
attraction  on  the  other.  I've  always  been  in  strait- 
ened circumstances.  I  never  spent  a  dollar  in  all  my 
days  when  I  didn't  think  I  ought  to  have  held  back 
three  or  four  cents  of  it.  You  can't  know,  Cutty, 
what  it  is  to  be  poor  and  want  beautiful  things  and 
good  times.  Of  course  I  couldn't  marry  just  money. 
There  would  have  to  be  some  kind  of  a  man  to  go  with 
it.  Someone  interesting  enough  to  make  me  forget 
sometimes  that  I'd  thrown  away  a  lover  for  a  pocket- 
book." 

"Would  you  marry  me,  Kitty?" 

"Are  you  serious?" 

"Let's  suppose  I  am." 

"No.  I  couldn't  marry  you,  Cutty.  I  should 
always  be  having  my  mother's  ghost  as  a  rival." 

"But  supposing  I  fell  in  love  with  you?" 

"Then  I'd  always  be  doubting  your  constancy. 
But  what  queer  talk ! " 

"Kitty,  you're  a  joy !  Lordy,  my  luck  in  dropping 
in  to  see  you  yesterday!" 

"And  a  little  whippersnapper  like  me  calling  a 
great  man  like  you  Cutty ! " 

"Well,  if  it  embarrasses  you,  you  might  switch  to 
papa  once  in  a  while." 


136  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Kitty's  laughter  rang  down  the  corridor.  "I'll 
remember  that  whenever  I  want  to  make  youj  mad. 
Who's  here?" 

"Nobody  but  Harrison  and  the  nurse.  Both 
good  citizens,  and  I've  taken  them  into  my  confi- 
dence to  a  certain  extent.  You  can  talk  freely  before 
them." 

"Am  I  to  see  the  patient?" 

"Harrison  says  not.  About  Wednesday  your 
Two-Hawks  will  be  sitting  up.  I've  determined  to 
keep  the  poor  devil  here  until  he  can  take  care  of 
himself.  But  he  is  flat  broke." 

"He  said  he  had  money." 

"Well,  Karlov's  men  stripped  him  clean." 

"Have  you  any  idea  who  he  is? " 

"To  be  honest,  that's  one  of  the  reasons  why  I 
want  to  keep  him  here.  He's  Russian,  for  all  his 
Oxford  English  and  his  Italian  gestures;  and  from 
his  babble  I  imagine  he's  been  through  seven  kinds 
of  hell.  Torches  and  hobnailed  boots  and  the  inces- 
sant call  for  a  woman  named  Olga — a  young  woman 
about  eighteen." 

"How  did  you  find  that  out?" 

"From  a  photograph  I  found  in  the  lining  of  his 
coat.  A  pretty  blonde  girl." 

"Good  heavens!" — recollecting  her  dream. 
"Where  was  it  printed?" 

"Amateur  photography.  I'll  pick  it  up  on  the 
way  to  the  living  room." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  137 

It  was  nothing  like  the  blonde  girl  of  her  dream. 
Still,  the  girl  was  charming.  Kitty  turned  over  the 
photograph.  There  was  writing  on  the  back. 

"Russian?     What  does  it  say?" 

"  'To  Ivan  from  Olga  with  all  her  love.' " 

Cutty  was  conscious  of  the  presence  of  an  inde- 
fensible malice  in  his  tones.  Why  the  deuce  should 
he  be  bitter-glad  that  the  chap  had  left  behind  a 
sweetheart?  He  knew  exactly  the  basis  of  Kitty's 
interest,  as  utterly  detached  as  that  of  a  reporter 
going  to  a  fire.  On  the  day  the  patient  could  explain 
himself,  Kitty's  interest  would  automatically  cease. 
An  old  dog  in  the  manger?  Malice. 

"Cutty,  something  dreadful  has  happened  to  this 
poor  young  woman.  That's  what  makes  him  cry 
out  the  name.  Caught  in  that  horror,  and  prob- 
ably he  alone  escaped.  Is  it  heartless  to  be  glad 
I'm  an  American?  Do  they  let  in  these  Russians?" 

"Not  since  the  Trotzky  regime.  I  imagine  Two- 
Hawks  slipped  through  on  some  British  passport. 
He'll  probably  tell  us  all  about  it  when  he  comes 
round.  But  how  do  you  feel  after  last  night's 
bout?" 

"Alive!  And  I'm  going  on  being  alive,  forever 
and  ever!  Oh,  those  awful  drums!  They  look  like 
dead  eyes  in  those  dim  corners.  Tumpitum-^Mrap/ 
Tumpitum-famp/"  she  cried,  linking  her  arm  in  his. 
"What  a  gorgeous  view!  Just  what  I'm  going  to 
do  when  my  ship  comes  in — live  in  a  loft.  I  really 


138  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

believe  I  could  write  up  here — I  mean  worth-while 
things  I  could  enjoy  writing  and  sell.** 

"It's  yours  if  you  want  it  when  I  leave.** 

"And  I'd  have  a  fine  time  explaining  to  my  friends! 
You  old  innocent!  .  .  .  Or  are  you  so  innocent?*' 

"We  do  live  in  a  cramped  world.  But  I  meant  it. 
Don't  forget  to  whistle  down  to  Tony  Bernini  when 
you  get  back  home  to-night.'* 

"I  promise.'* 

"Why  the  gurgle?" 

"Because  I'm  tremendously  excited.  All  my  life 
I've  wanted  to  do  mysterious  things.  I've  been  with 
the  audience  all  the  while,  and  I  want  to  be  with  the 
actors." 

"You'll  give  some  man  a  wild  dance." 

"If  I  do  I'll  dance  with  him.  Now  lead  me  to  the 
cookies." 

She  was  the  life  of  the  tea  table.  Her  wit,  her 
effervescence,  her  whimsicalities  amused  even  the 
prim  Miss  Frances.  When  she  recounted  the  exploit 
of  the  camouflaged  fan,  Cutty  and  Harrison  laughed 
so  loudly  that  the  nurse  had  to  put  her  finger  on  her 
lips.  They  might  wake  the  patient. 

"I  am  really  interested  in  him,"  went  on  Kitty. 
"I  won't  deny  it.  I  want  to  see  how  it's  going  to 
turn  out.  He  was  very  nice  after  I  let  him  into  the 
kitchen.  A  perfectly  English  manner  and  voice,  and 
Italian  gestures  when  off  his  guard.  I  feel  so  sorry 
for  him.  What  strangers  we  races  are  to  each  other! 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  139 

Until  the  war  we  hardly  knew  the  Canadians.  The 
British  didn't  know  us  at  all,  and  the  French  be- 
came acquainted  with  the  British  for  the  first  time  in 
history.  And  the  German  thought  he  knew  us  all 
and  really  knew  nobody.  All  the  Russians  I  ever 
saw  were  peasants  of  the  cattle  type;  so  that  the  word 
Russian  conjures  up  two  pictures — the  grand  duke  at 
Monte  Carlo  and  a  race  of  men  who  wear  long  beards 
and  never  bathe  except  when  it  rains.  Think  of  it! 
For  the  first  tune  since  God  set  mankind  on  earth 
peoples  are  becoming  acquainted.  I  never  saw  a 
Russian  of  this  type  before." 

"A  leaf  in  the  whirlpool.  Anyhow,  we'll  keep  him 
here  until  he's  on  his  feet.  By  the  way,  never  answer 
any  telephone  call — I  mean,  go  anywhere  on  a  call — 
unless  you  are  sure  of  the  speaker." 

"I  begin  to  feel  important."  -i 

"You  are  important.  You  have  suddenly  become 
a  connecting  link  between  this  Karlov  and  the  man 
we  wish  to  protect.  I'll  confess  I  wanted  you  out 
of  that  apartment  at  first;  but  when  I  saw  that  you 
were  bent  on  remaining,  I  decided  to  make  use  of 

you." 

"You  are  going  to  give  me  a  part  in  the  play?" 
"Yes.  You  are  to  go  about  your  affairs  as  al- 
ways, just  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Only  when 
you  wish  to  come  here  will  you  play  any  game  like 
that  of  to-day.  Then  it  will  be  advisable.  Switch 
your  route  each  time.  Your  real  part  is  to  be  that 


140  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

of  lure.  Through  you  we  shall  gradually  learn  who 
Karlov's  associates  are.  If  you  don't  care  to  play  the 
role  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  move.' 

"The  idea!  I'm  grateful  for  anything.  You 
men  will  never  understand.  You  go  forth  into  the 
world  each  day — politics,  diplomacy,  commerce,  war 
— while  we  women  stay  at  home  and  knit  or  darn 
socks  or  take  care  of  the  baby  or  make  over  our  clothes 
and  hats  or  do  household  work  or  play  the  piano  or 
read.  Never  any  adventure.  Never  any  games. 
Never  any  clubs.  The  leaving  your  house  to  go  to 
the  office  is  an  adventure.  A  tram  from  here  to 
Philadelphia  is  an  adventure.  We  women  are  al- 
ways craving  it.  And  about  all  we  can  squeeze  out 
of  life  is  shopping  and  hiding  the  bills  after  marriage, 
and  going  to  the  movies  before  marriage  with  young 
men  our  fathers  don't  like.  We  can't  even  stroll  the 
street  and  admire  the  handsome  gowns  of  our  more 
fortunate  sisters  the  way  you  men  do.  When  you 
see  a  pretty  woman  on  the  street  do  you  ever  stop  to 
think  that  there  are  ten  at  home  eating  their  hearts 
out?  Of  course  you  don't.  So  I'm  going  through 
with  this,  to  satisfy  suppressed  instincts;  and  I  shan't 
promise  to  trot  along  as  usual." 

"They  may  attempt  to  kidnap  you,  Kitty." 

"That  doesn't  frighten  me." 

"So  I  observe.  But  if  they  ever  should  have  the 
luck  to  kidnap  you,  tell  all  you  know  at  once.  There's 
only  one  way  up  here — the  elevator.  I  can  get  out 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  141 

to  the  fire  escape,  but  none  can  get  in  from  that  direc- 
tion, as  the  door  is  of  steel." 

"And, -of  course,  you'll  take  me  into  your  confi- 
dence completely?" 

"When  the  time  comes.  Half  the  fun  in  an  ad- 
venture is  the  element  of  the  unexpected,"  said 
Cutty. 

"Where  did  you  first  meet  Stefani  Gregor?" 

Captain  Harrison  laughed.  He  liked  this  girl. 
She  was  keen  and  could  be  depended  upon,  as  wit- 
ness last  night's  work.  Her  real  danger  lay  in  being 
conspicuously  pretty,  in  looking  upon  this  affair  as 
merely  a  kind  of  exciting  game,  when  it  was  tragedy. 

"What  makes  you  think  I  know  Stefani  Gregor?" 
asked  Cutty,  genuinely  curious. 

"When  I  pronounced  that  name  you  whirled  upon 
me  as  if  I  had  struck  you." 

"Very  well.  When  we  learn  who  Two-Hawks 
is  I'll  tell  you  what  I  know  about  Gregor.  And  in 
the  meantime  you  will  be  ceaselessly  under  guard. 
You  are  an  asset,  Kitty,  to  whichever  side  holds  you. 
Captain  Harrison  is  going  to  stay  for  dinner.  Won't 
you  join  us?" 

"I'm  going  to  a  studio  potluck  with  some  girls. 
And  it's  time  I  was  on  the  way.  I'll  let  your  Tony 
Bernini  know.  Home  probably  at  ten." 

Cutty  went  with  her  to  the  elevator  and  when 
he  returned  to  the  tea  table  he  sat  down  without 
speaking. 


142  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Why  not  kidnap  her  yourself,"  suggested  Harri- 
son, "if  you  don't  want  her  in  this?" 

"She  would  never  forgive  me." 

"If  she  found  it  out." 

"She's  the  kind  who  would.  What  do  you  think  of 
her,  Miss  Frances?" 

"I  think  she  is  wonderful.  Frankly,  I  should 
tell  her  everything — if  there  is  anything  more  to  be 
told." 

When  dinner  was  over,  the  nurse  gone  back  to  the 
patient  and  Captain  Harrison  to  his  club,  Cutty  lit 
his  odoriferous  pipe  and  patrolled  the  windows  of  his 
study.  Ever  since  Kitty's  departure  he  had  been 
muHing  over  in  his  mind  a  plan  regarding  her  future — 
to  add  a  codicil  to  his  will,  leaving  her  five  thousand 
a  year,  so  Molly's  girl  might  always  have  a  dainty 
frame  for  her  unusual  beauty.  The  pity  of  it  was 
that  convention  denied  him  the  pleasure  of  settling 
the  income  upon  her  at  once,  while  she  was  young. 
He  might  outlive  her;  you  never  could  tell.  Any- 
how, he  would  see  to  the  codicil.  An  accident  might 
step  in. 

He  got  out  his  chrysoprase.  In  one  corner  of  the 
room  there  was  a  large  portfolio  such  as  artists  use 
for  their  proofs  and  sketches;  and  from  this  he  took  a 
dozen  twelve-by-fourteen-inch  photographs  of  beau- 
tiful women,  most  of  them  stage  beauties  of  bygone 
years.  The  one  on  top  happened  to  be  Patti.  The 
adorable  Patti!  .  .  Linda,  Violetta,  Lucia. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  143 

/ 

Lord,  what  a  nightingale  she  had  been !  He  laughed, 
laid  the  photograph  on  the  desk,  and  dipped  his  hand 
into  a  canvas  bag  filled  with  polished  green  stones 
which  would  have  great  commercial  value  if  people 
knew  more  about  them;  for  nothing  else  in  the  world 
is  quite  so  beautifully  green. 

He  built  tiaras  above  the  lovely  head  and  laid 
necklaces  across  the  marvellous  throat.  Suddenly 
a  phenomenon  took  place.  The  roguish  eyes  of 
the  prima  donna  receded  and  vanished  and  slate- 
blue  ones  replaced  them.  The  odd  part  of  it  was, 
he  could  not  dissipate  the  fancied  eyes  for  the  re- 
placement of  the  actual.  Patti,  with  slate-blue 
eyes!  He  discarded  the  photograph  and  selected 
another.  He  began  the  game  anew  and  was  just  be- 
ginning the  attack  on  the  problem  uppermost  in 
his  mind  when  the  phenomenon  occurred  again. 
Kitty's  eyes!  What  infernal  nonsense!  Kitty  had 
served  merely  to  enliven  his  tender  recollections 
of  her  mother.  Twenty-four  and  fifty-two.  And 
yet,  hadn't  he  just  read  that  Maeterlinck,  fifty-six, 
had  married  Mademoiselle  Dahon,  many  years 
younger? 

In  a  kind  of  resentful  fury  he  pushed  back  his 
chair  and  fell  to  pacing,  eddies  and  loops  and  spirals 
of  smoke  whirling  and  sweeping  behind  him.  The 
only  light  was  centred  upon  the  desk,  so  he  might 
have  been  some  god  pacing  cloud-riven  Olympus 
in  the  twilight.  By  and  by  he  laughed;  and  the  at- 


144  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

mosphere — mental — cleared.  Maeterlinck,  fifty-six, 
and  Cutty,  fifty -two,  were  two  different  men.  Cutty 
might  mix  his  metaphors  occasionally,  but  he  wasn't 
going  to  mix  his  ghosts. 

He  returned  to  his  singular  game.  More  tiaras 
and  necklaces;  and  his  brain  took  firm  hold  of  the 
theme  which  had  in  the  beginning  lured  him  to  the 
green  stones. 

Two-Hawks.  That  name  bothered  him.  He 
knew  he  had  heard  it  before,  but  never  in  the  Russian 
tongue.  It  might  be  that  the  chap  had  been  spoofing 
Kitty.  Still,  he  had  also  called  himself  Hawksley. 

The  smoke  thickened;  there  were  frequent  flares 
of  matches.  One  by  one  Cutty  discarded  the  photo- 
graphs, dropping  them  on  the  floor  beside  his  chair, 
his  mind  boring  this  way  and  that  for  a  solution.  He 
had  now  come  to  the  point  where  he  ceased  to  see  the 
photographs  or  the  green  stones.  The  movements 
of  his  hands  were  almost  automatic.  And  in  this 
abstract  manner  he  came  to  the  last  photograph. 
He  built  a  necklace  and  even  ventured  an  earring. 

It  was  a  glorious  face — black  eyes  that  followed 
you;  full  lipped;  every  indication  of  fire  and  genius. 
It  must  be  understood  that  he  rarely  saw  the  photo- 
graphs when  he  played  this  game.  It  wasn't  an 
amusing  pastime,  a  mental  relaxation.  It  was  a 
unique  game  of  solitaire,  the  photographs  and  chry- 
soprase  being  substituted  for  cards;  and  in  some  inex- 
plicable manner  it  permitted  him  to  concentrate 


TJie  Drums  of  Jeopardy  145 

upon  whatever  problem  filled  his  thoughts.  It  was 
purely  accidental  that  he  saw  Patti  to-night  or  re- 
called her  art.  Coming  upon  the  last  photograph 
without  having  found  a  solution  of  the  riddle  of 
Two-Hawks  he  relaxed  the  mental  pressure;  and  his 
sight  reestablished  its  ability  to  focus. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  ejaculated. 

He  seized  the  photograph  excitedly,  scattering  the 
green  stones.  She!  The  Calabrian,  the  enchanting 
colouratura  who  had  vanished  from  the  world  at  the 
height  of  her  fame,  thirty -odd  years  gone!  Two- 
Hawks! 

Cutty  saw  himself  at  twenty,  in  the  pit  at  La 
Scala,  with  music-mad  Milan  all  about  him.  Two- 
Hawks!  He  remembered  now.  The  nickname  the 
young  bloods  had  given  her  because  she  had  been 
eternally  guarded  by  her  mother  and  aunt,  fierce- 
beaked  Calabrians,  who  had  determined  that  Rosa 
should  never  throw  herself  away  on  some  beggarly 
Adonis. 

And  this  chap  was  her  son!  Yesterday,  rich  and 
powerful,  with  a  name  that  was  open  sesame  wher- 
ever he  went;  to-day,  hunted,  penniless,  and  forlorn. 
Cutty  sank  back  in  his  chair,  stunned  by  the  revela- 
tion. In  that  room  yonder! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

FOR  a  long  time  Cutty  sat  perfectly  motion- 
less, his  pipe  at  an  upward   angle — a  fine 
commentary  on  the  strength  of  his  jaws — 
and  his  gaze  boring  into  the  shadows  beyond  his 
desk.     What  was  uppermost  in  his  thoughts  now 
was  the  fateful  twist  of  events  that  had  brought  the 
young  man  to  the  assured  haven  of  this  towering 
loft. 

All  based,  singularly  enough,  upon  his  wanting  to 
see  Molly's  girl  for  a  few  moments;  and  thus  he  had 
established  himself  in  Kitty's  thoughts.  Instead  of 
turning  to  the  police  she  had  turned  to  him.  Old 
Cutty,  reaching  round  vaguely  for  something  to  stay 
the  current — age;  hoping  by  seeing  this  living  link 
'twixt  the  present  and  the  past  to  stay  the  afterglow 
of  youth.  As  if  that  could  be  done!  He,  who  had 
never  paid  any  attention  to  gray  hairs  and  wrinkles 
and  time,  all  at  once  found  himself  in  a  position  simi- 
lar to  that  of  the  man  who  supposes  he  has  an  inex- 
haustible sum  at  the  bank  and  has  just  been  notified 
that  he  has  overdrawn. 

Cutty  knew  that  life  wasn't  really  coordination 
and  premeditation  so  much  as  it  was  coincident. 
Trivials.  Nothing  was  absolute  and  dependable 

146 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  147 

but  death;  between  birth  and  death  a  series  of  acci- 
dents and  incidents  and  coincidents  which  men  called 
life. 

He  tapped  his  pipe  on  the  ash  tray  and  stood  up. 
He  gathered  the  chrysoprase  and  restored  the  stones 
to  the  canvas  bag.  Then  he  carefully  stacked  the 
photographs  and  carried  them  to  the  portfolio.  The 
green  stones  he  deposited  in  a  safe,  from  which  he 
took  a  considerable  bundle  of  small  notebooks, 
returning  to  the  desk  with  these.  Denatured  dyna- 
mite, these  notebooks,  full  of  political  secrets,  solu- 
tions of  mysteries  that  baffle  historians.  A  truly 
great  journalist  never  writes  history  as  a  historian; 
he  is  afraid  to.  Sometimes  conjecture  is  safer 
than  fact.  And  these  little  notebooks  were  the  re- 
pository of  suppressed  facts  ranging  over  twenty- 
odd  years.  Gerald  Stanley  Lee  would  have  recog- 
nized them  instantly  as  coming  under  the  head  of 
what  he  calls  Sh! 

An  hour  later  Cutty  returned  the  notebooks  to 
their  abiding  place,  his  memory  refreshed.  The 
poor  devil!  A  dissolute  father  and  uncle,  dissolute 
forbears,  corrupt  blood  weakened  by  intermarriage, 
what  hope  was  there?  Only  one — the  rich,  fiery  blood 
of  the  Calabrian  mother. 

But  why  had  the  chap  come  to  America?  Why 
not  England  or  the  Riviera,  where  rank,  even  if  shorn 
of  its  prerogatives,  is  still  treated  respectfully?  But 
America! 


148  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Cutty's  head  went  up.  Perhaps  that  was  it — > 
to  barter  his  phantom  greatness  for  money,  to  dazzle 
some  rich  fool  of  an  American  girl.  In  that  case 
Karlov  would  be  welcome.  But  wait  a  moment. 
The  chap  had  come  in  from  the  west.  In  that  event 
there  should  be  an  Odyssey  of  some  kind  tucked 
away  in  the  affair. 

Cutty  resumed  his  pacing.  The  moment  his  im- 
agination caught  the  essentials  he  visualized  the 
Odyssey.  Across  mountains  and  deserts,  rivers  and 
seas,  he  followed  Two-Hawks  in  fancy,  pursued  by 
an  implacable  hatred,  more  or  less  historical,  of 
which  the  lad  was  less  a  cause  than  an  abstract  ob- 
ject. And  Karlov — Cutty  understood  Karlov  now 
— always  span  near,  his  hate  reenergizing  his  falter- 
ing feet. 

There  was  evidently  some  iron  in  this  Two-Hawks' 
blood.  Fear  never  would  have  carried  him  thus  far. 
Fear  would  have  whispered,  "Futility!  Futility!" 
And  he  would  have  bent  his  head  to  the  stroke.  So 
then  there  was  resource  and  there  was  courage. 
And  he  lay  in  yonder  room,  beaten  and  penniless. 
The  top  piece  in  the  grim  irony — to  have  come  all 
these  thousands  of  miles  unscathed,  to  be  dropped  at 
the  goal.  But  America?  Well,  that  would  be 
solved  later. 

"By  the  Lord  Harry!"  Cutty  stopped  and  struck 
his  hands  together.  "The  drums!" 

From  the  hour  Kitty  had  pronounced  the  name 


Tlie  Drums  of  Jeopardy  149 

Stefani  Gregor  an  idea  had  taken  lodgment,  an 
irrepressible  idea,  that  somewhere  in  this  drama 
would  be  the  drums  of  jeopardy.  The  mark  of  the 
thong!  Never  any  doubt  of  it  now.  Those  magnifi- 
cent emeralds  were  here  in  New  York.  The  mob — 
the  Red  Guard — hammering  on  the  doors,  what 
would  have  been  Two-Hawks'  most  natural  first 
thought?  To  gather  what  treasures  the  hand  could 
be  laid  to  and  flee.  Here  in  New  York,  and  in 
Karlov's  hands,  ultimately  to  be  cut  up  for  Bolshevik 
propaganda !  The  infernal  pity  of  it ! 

The  passion  of  the  gem  hunter  blazed  forth, 
dimming  all  other  phases  of  the  drama.  Here  was  a 
real  game,  a  man's  game;  sport!  Cutty  rubbed  his 
hands  together  pleasurably.  To  recover  those  green 
flames  before  they  could  be  broken  up;  under  the 
ancient  ruling  that  "Findings  is  keepings."  The 
stones,  of  course,  meant  nothing  to  Karlov  beyond  the 
monetary  value;  and  upon  this  fact  Cutty  began 
developing  a  plan.  He  stood  ready  to  buy  those 
stones  if  he  could  draw  them  into  the  open.  Lord, 
how  he  wanted  them!  Murder  and  loot,  always 
murder  and  loot! 

The  thought  of  those  two  incomparable  emeralds 
being  broken  up  distressed  him  profoundly.  He 
must  act  at  once,  before  the  desecration  could  be 
consummated.  Two-Hawks — Hawksley  hereafter,  for 
the  sake  of  convenience — had  an  equity  in  the  gems; 
but  what  of  that?  In  smuggling  them  in — and  how 


150  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

the  deuce  had  he  done  it? — he  had  thrown  away  his 
legal  right  to  them.  Cutty  kneaded  his  conscience 
into  a  satisfactory  condition  of  quiescence  and  went 
on  with  his  planning.  If  he  succeeded  in  recovering 
the  stones  and  his  conscience  bit  a  little  too  deeply 
for  comfort — why,  he  could  pay  over  to  Hawksley 
twenty  per  cent,  of  the  price  Karlov  demanded.  He 
could  take  it  or  leave  it.  In  a  case  like  this — to  a 
bachelor  without  dependents — money  was  no  ob- 
ject. All  his  life  he  had  wanted  a  fine  emerald  to 
play  with,  and  here  was  an  opportunity  to  acquire 
two! 

If  this  plan  failed  to  draw  Karlov  into  the  open, 
then  every  jeweller  and  pawnbroker  in  town  would  be 
notified  and  warned.  What  with  the  secret-service 
operatives  and  the  agents  of  the  Department  of 
Justice  on  the  watch  for  Karlov — who  would  recog- 
nize his  limitations  of  mobility — it  was  reasonable  to 
assume  that  the  Bolshevik  would  be  only  too  glad  to 
dicker  secretly  for  the  disposal  of  the  stones. 

Now  to  work.  Cutty  looked  at  his  watch. 
Nearly  midnight.  Rather  late,  but  he  knew  all  the 
tricks  of  this  particular  kind  of  game.  If  the  ad- 
vertisement appeared  isolated,  all  the  better.  The 
real  job  would  be  to  hide  his  identity.  He  saw  a  way 
round  this  difficulty.  He  wrote  out  six  advertise- 
ments, all  worded  the  same.  He  figured  out  the  cost 
and  was  delighted  to  find  that  he  carried  the  neces- 
sary currency.  Then  he  got  into  his  engineer'* 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  151 

dungarees,  touched  up  his  face  and  hands  to  the 
required  griminess,  and  sallied  forth. 

Luck  attended  him  until  he  reached  the  last  morn- 
ing newspaper  on  the  list.  Here  he  was  obliged  to 
proceed  to  the  city  room — risky  business.  A  queer 
advertisement  coming  into  the  city  room  late  at 
night  was  always  pried  into,  as  he  knew  from  experi- 
ence. Still,  he  felt  that  he  ought  not  to  miss  any 
chance  to  reach  Karlov. 

He  explained  his  business  to  the  sleepy  gate  boy, 
who  carried  the  advertisement  and  the  cash  to  the 
night  city  editor's  desk.  Ordinarily  the  night  city 
editor  would  have  returned  the  advertisement  with 
the  crisp  information  that  he  had  no  authority  to 
accept  advertisements.  But  the  "drums  of  jeopardy" 
caught  his  attention;  and  he  sent  a  keen  glance 
across  the  busy  room  to  the  rail  where  Cutty  stood, 
perhaps  conspicuously. 

"Humph!"  He  called  to  one  of  the  reporters. 
"This  looks  like  a  story.  I'll  run  it.  Follow  that 
guy  in  the  overalls  and  see  what's  in  it." 

Cutty  appreciated  the  interlude  for  what  it  was 
worth.  Someone  was  going  to  follow  him.  When 
the  gate  boy  returned  to  notify  him  that  the  ad- 
vertisement had  been  accepted,  Cutty  went  down  to 
the  street. 

"Hey,  there;  just  a  moment!"  hailed  the  reporter. 
"I  want  a  word  with  you  about  that  advertise- 
ment." 


152  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Cutty  came  to  a  standstill.  "I  paid  for  it, 
didn't  I?" 

"Sure.  But  what's  this  about  the  drums  of 
jeopardy?" 

"Two  great  emeralds  I'm  hunting  for,"  explained 
Cutty,  recalling  the  man  who  stood  on  London 
Bridge  and  peddled  sovereigns  at  two  bits  each,  and 
no  buyer. 

"Can  it!  Can  it!"  jeered  the  reporter.  "Be  a 
good  sport  and  give  us  the  tip.  Strike  call  among 
the  city  engineers?" 

"I'm  telling  you." 

"Like  Mike  you  are!" 

"All  right.  It's  the  word  to  tie  up  the  surface 
lines,  like  Newark,  if  you  want  to  know.  Now,  get 
t'  hell  out  o'  here  before  I  hand  you  one  on  the  jaw!" 

The  reporter  backed  away.  "Is  that  on  the 
level?" 

"  Call  up  the  barns  and  find  out.  They'll  tell  you 
what's  on.  And  listen,  if  you  follow  me,  I'll  break 
your  head .  On  your  way ! ' ' 

The  reporter  dashed  for  the  elevator — and  back  to 
the  doorway  in  time  to  see  Cutty  legging  it  for  the 
Subway.  As  he  was  a  reporter  of  the  first  class  he 
managed  to  catch  the  same  express  uptown. 

On  the  way  uptown  Cutty  considered  that  he  had 
accomplished  a  shrewd  bit  of  work.  Karlov  or  one 
of  his  agents  would  certainly  see  that  advertisement; 
and  even  if  Karlov  suspected  a  Federal  trap  he  .would 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  153 

find  some  means  of  communicating  with  the  issuer  of 
the  advertisement. 

The  thought  of  Kitty  returned.  What  the  dickens 
would  she  say — how  would  she  act — when  she  learned 
who  this  Hawksley  was?  He  fervently  hoped  that  she 
had  never  read  "Thaddeus  of  Warsaw."  There  would 
be  all  the  difference  in  the  world  between  an  elegant 
refugee  Pole  and  a  derelict  of  the  Russian  autocracy. 
Perhaps  the  best  course  to  pursue  would  be  to  say 
nothing  at  all  to  her  about  the  amazing  discovery. 

Upon  leaving  Elevator  Four  Cutty  said:  "Bob, 
I've  been  followed  by  a  sharp  reporter.  Sheer  him 
off  with  any  tale  you  please,  and  go  home.  Good- 
night." 

"I'll  fix  him,  sir." 

Cutty  took  a  bath,  put  on  his  lounging  robe,  and 
tiptoed  to  the  threshold  of  the  patient's  room.  The 
shaded  light  revealed  the  nurse  asleep  with  a  book  on 
her  knees.  The  patient's  eyes  were  closed  and  his 
breathing  was  regular.  He  was  coming  along. 
Cutty  decided  to  go  to  bed. 

Meantime,  when  the  elevator  touched  the  ground 
floor,  the  operator  observed  a  prospective  passenger. 

"Last  trip,  sir.     You'll  have  to  take  the  stairs." 

"  WTiere'll  I  find  the  engineer  who  went  up  with  you 
just  now?" 

"The  man  I  took  up?     Gone  to  bed,  I  guess." 

"What  floor?" 

"Nothing    doing,    bo.     I'm    wise.     You're    the 


154  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

i' 

fourth  guy  with  a  subpoena  that's  been  after  him. 
Nix." 

"I'm  not  a  lawyer's  clerk.  I'm  a  reporter,  and  I 
want  to  ask  him  a  few  questions." 

"Gee!  Has  that  Jane  of  his  been  hauling  in  the 
newspapers?  Good-night!  Toddle  along,  bo;  there's 
nothing  coming  from  me.  Nix." 

"Would  ten  dollars  make  you  talk?"  asked  the 
reporter,  desperately. 

"Ye-ah — about  the  Kaiser  and  his  wood-sawing. 
By-by!" 

The  operator,  secretly  enjoying  the  reporter's  dis- 
comfiture, shut  off  the  lights,  slammed  the  elevator 
door  to  the  latch,  and  walked  to  the  revolving  doors, 
to  the  tune  of  Garry  Owen. 

The  reporter  did  not  follow  him  but  sat  down  on 
the  first  step  of  the  marble  stairs  to  think,  for  there 
was  a  lot  to  think  about.  He  sensed  clearly  enough 
that  all  this  talk  about  street-railway  strikes  ^and 
subpoenas  was  rot.  The  elevator  man  and  the  engi- 
neer were  in  cahoots.  There  was  a  story  here,  but 
how  to  get  to  it  was  a  puzzler.  He  had  one  chance  in 
a  hundred  of  landing  it — tip  the  mail  clerk  in  the 
business  office  to  keep  an  eye  open  for  the  man  who 
called  for  "Double  C  "  mail. 

Eventually,  the  man  who  did  call  for  that  mail 
presented  a  card  to  the  mail  clerk.  At  the  bottom  of 
this  card  was  the  name  of  the  chief  of  the  United 
States  Secret  Service. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  155 

"And  say  to  the  reporter  who  has  probably  asked 
you  to  watch — hands  off!  Understand?  Absolutely 
hands  off!" 

When  the  reporter  was  informed  he  blew  a  kiss  into 
the  air  and  sought  his  city  editor  for  his  regular 
assignment.  He  understood,  with  the  wisdom  of 
his  calling,  that  one  didn't  go  whale  fishing  with 
trout  rods. 


CHAPTER  XV 

EARLY  the  next  morning  in  a  bedroom  in  a 
rooming  house  for  aliens  in  Fifteenth  Street, 
a  man  sat  in  a  chair  scanning  the  want 
columns  of  a  newspaper.  Occasionally  he  jotted 
down  something  on  a  slip  of  paper.  This  man's  job 
was  rather  an  unusual  one.  He  hunted  jobs  for 
other  men — jobs  hi  steel  mills,  great  factories,  in  the 
textile  districts,  the  street-car  lines,  the  shipping 
yards  and  docks,  any  place  where  there  might  be  a 
grain  or  two  of  the  powder  of  unrest  and  discontent. 
His  business  was  to  supply  the  human  matches. 

No  more  parading  the  streets,  no  more  haranguing 
from  soap  boxes.  The  proper  place  nowadays  was  in 
the  yard  or  shop  corners  at  noontime.  A  word  or 
two  dropped  at  the  right  moment;  perhaps  a  printed 
pamphlet;  little  wedges  wherever  there  were  men 
who  wanted  something  they  neither  earned  nor 
deserved.  Here  and  there  across  the  land  little  flares, 
one  running  into  the  other,  like  wildfire  on  the 
plains,  and  then — the  upheaval.  As  in  Russia,  so 
now  in  Germany;  later,  England  and  France  and 
here.  The  proletariat  was  gaming  power. 

He  was  no  fool,  this  individual.  He  knew  his  clay, 
the  day  labourer,  with  his  parrotlike  mentality. 

156 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  157 

Though  the  victim  of  this  peculiar  potter  absorbs 
sounds  he  doesn't  often  absorb  meanings.  But  he 
takes  these  sounds  and  respouts  them  and  convinces 
himself  that  he  is  some  kind  of  Moses,  headed  for 
the  promised  land.  Inflammable  stuff.  Hence,  the 
strikes  wfrich  puzzle  the  average  intelligent  American 
citizen .  What  is  it  all  about  ?  Nobody  seems  to  know. 

Once  upon  a  time  men  went  on  a  strike  because 
they  were  being  cheated  and  abused.  Now  they 
strike  on  the  principle  that  it  is  excellent  policy  al- 
ways to  be  demanding  something;  it  keeps  capitalism 
where  it  belongs — on  the  ragged  edge  of  things.  No 
matter  what  they  demand  they  never  expect  to  give 
an  equivalent;  and  a  just  cause  isn't  necessary.  Thus 
the  present-day  agitator  has  orily  one  perplexity — that 
of  eluding  the  iron  hand  of  the  Department  of  Justice. 

Suddenly  the  man  in  the  chair  brought  the  news- 
paper close  up  and  stared.  He  jumped  to  his  feet, 
ran  out  and  up  the  next  flight  of  stairs.  He  stopped 
before  a  door  and  turned  the  knob  a  certain  number 
of  times.  Presently  the  door  opened  the  barest  crack ; 
then  it  was  swung  wide  enough  to  admit  the  visitor. 

"Look!"  he  whispered,  indicating  Cutty's  adver- 
tisement. 

The  occupant  of  the  room  snatched  the  newspaper 
and  carried  it  to  a  window. 

Will  purchase  the  drums  of  jeopardy  at  top  price.  No  ques- 
tions asked.  Address  this  office. 

DOUBLE  C. 


158  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Very  good.  I  might  have  missed  it.  We  shall 
sell  the  accursed  drums  to  this  gentleman." 

"Sell  them?     But— 

"Imbecile!  What  we  must  do  is  to  find  out  who 
this  man  is.  In  the  end  he  may  lead  us  to  him" 

"But  it  may  be  a  trap!" 

"Leave  that  to  me.  You  have  work  of  your  own 
to  do,  and  you  had  best  be  about  it.  Do  you  not  see 
beneath?  Who  but  the  man  who  harbours  him 
would  know  about  the  drums?  The  man  in  the 
evening  clothes.  I  was  too  far  away  to  see  his  face. 
Get  me  all  the  morning  newspapers.  If  the  adver- 
tisement is  in  all  of  them  I  will  send  a  letter  to  each. 
We  lost  the  young  woman  yesterday.  And  nothing 
has  been  heard  of  Vladimir  and  Stemmler.  Bad.  I 
do  not  like  this  place.  I  move  to  the  house  to-night. 
My  old  friend  Stefani  may  be  lonesome.  I  dare  not 
risk  daylight.  Some  fool  may  have  talked.  To 
work!  All  of  us  have  much  to  do  to  wake  up  the 
proletariat  in  this  country  of  the  blind.  But  the 
hour  will  come.  Get  me  the  newspapers." 

Karlov  pushed  his  visitor  from  the  room  and 
locked  and  bolted  the  door.  He  stepped  over  to  the 
window  again  and  stared  down  at  the  clutter  of 
pushcarts,  drays,  trucks,  and  human  beings  that  tried 
to  go  forward  and  got  forward  only  by  moving  side- 
ways or  worming  through  temporary  breaches, 
seldom  directly — the  way  of  humanity.  But  there 
was  no  object  lesson  in  this  for  Karlov,  who  was  not 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  159 

philosophical  in  the  peculiar  sense  of  one  who  was 
demanding  a  reason  for  everything  and  finding 
allegory  and  comparison  and  allusion  in  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  life.  The  philosophical  is  often  misapplied  to 
the  stoical.  Karlov  was  a  stoic,  not  a  philosopher,  or 
he  would  not  have  been  the  victim  of  his  present 
obsession.  The  idea  of  live  and  let  live  has  never 
been  the  propaganda  of  the  anarch.  To  the  anarch 
the  death  of  some  body  or  the  destruction  of  some 
thing  is  the  cornerstone  to  his  madhouse. 

Nothing  would  ever  cure  this  man  of  his  obsession 
—the  death  of  Hawksley  and  the  possession  of  the 
emeralds.  Moreover,  there  was  the  fanatical  belief 
in  his  poor  disordered  brain  that  the  accomplishment 
of  these  two  projects  would  eventually  assist  in  the 
liberation  of  mankind.  Abnormally  cunning  in  his 
methods  of  approach,  he  lacked  those  imaginative 
scales  by  which  we  weigh  our  projects  and  which  we 
call  logic.  A  child  alone  in  a  house  with  a  box  of 
matches;  a  dog  on  one  side  of  Fifth  Avenue  that  sees 
a  dog  on  the  other  side,  but  not  the  automobiles — 
inexorable  logic — irresistible  force — whizzing  up  and 
down  the  middle  of  that  thoroughfare.  It  is  not 
difficult  to  prophesy  what  is  going  to  happen  to  that 
child,  that  dog. 

Karlov  was  at  this  moment  reaching  out  toward  a 
satisfactory  solution  relative  to  the  disappearance  of 
the  gems.  They  had  not  been  found  on  his  enemy; 
they  had  not  been  found  in  the  Gregor  apartment; 


160  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

the  two  men  assigned  to  the  task  of  securing  them 
would  not  have  risked  certain  death  by  trying  to  do 
a  little  bargaining  on  their  own  initiative.  In  the 
first  instance  they  had  come  forth  empty-handed. 
In  the  second  instance — that  of  intimidating  the  girl 
to  disclose  his  whereabouts — neither  Vladimir  nor 
Stemmler  had  returned.  Sinister.  The  man  in  the 
dress  suit  again? 

Conceivably,  then,  the  drums  were  in  the 
possession  of  this  girl;  and  she  was  holding  them 
against  the  day  when  the  fugitive  would  reclaim 
them.  The  advertisement  was  a  snare.  Very  good. 
Two  could  play  that  game  as  well  as  one. 

The  girl.  Was  it  not  always  so?  That  breed! 
God's  curse  on  them  all!  A  crooked  finger,  and  the 
women  followed,  hypnotized.  The  girl  was  away 
from  the  apartment  the  major  part  of  the  day;  50  it 
was  in  order  to  search  her  rooms.  A  pretty  little 
fool. 

But  where  were  they  hiding  him?  Gall  and  worm- 
wood! That  he  should  slip  through  Boris  Karlov's 
fingers,  after  all  these  tortuous  windings  across  the 
world!  Patience.  Sooner  or  later  the  girl  would 
lead  the  way.  Still,  patience  was  a  galling  hobble 
when  he  had  so  little  time,  when  even  now  they 
might  be  hunting  him.  Boris  Karlov  had  left  New 
York  rather  well  known. 

He  expanded  under  this  thought.  For  the  spiritual 
breath  of  life  to  the  anarch  is  flattery,  attention. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  161 

Had  the  newspapers  ignored  Trotzky's  advent  into 
Russia,  had  they  omitted  the  daily  chronicle  of  his 
activities,  the  Russian  problem  would  not  be  so 
large  as  it  is  this  day.  Trotzky  would  have  died  of 
chagrin. 

He  would  answer  this  advertisement.  Trap? 
He  would  set  one  himself.  The  man  who  eventually 
came  to  negotiate  would  be  made  a  prisoner  and 
forced  to  disclose  the  identity  of  the  man  who  had 
interfered  with  the  great  projects  of  Boris  Karlov, 
plenipotentiary  extraordinary  for  the  red  govern- 
ment of  Russia. 

Midtown,  Cutty  tapped  his  breakfast  egg 
dubiously.  Not  that  he  speculated  upon  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  egg.  What  troubled  him  was  that 
advertisement.  Last  night,  keyed  high  by  his  re- 
markable discovery  of  the  identity  of  his  guest  and 
his  cupidity  relative  to  the  emeralds,  he  had  laid 
himself  open.  If  he  knew  anything  at  all  about  the 
craft,  that  reporter  would  be  digging  in.  Fortunately 
he  had  resources  unsuspected  by  the  reporter.  Le- 
gitimately he  could  send  a  secret-service  operative 
to  collect  the  mail — if  Karlov  decided  to  negotiate. 
Still  within  his  rights,  he  could  use  another  operative 
to  conduct  the  negotiations.  If  in  the  end  Karlov 
strayed  into  the  net  the  use  of  the  service  for  private 
ends  would  be  justified. 

Lord,  those  green  stones!  Well,  why  not?  Some- 
thing in  the  world  worth  a  hazard.  What  had  he  in 


162  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

life  but  this  second  grand  passion?  There  shot  into 
his  mind  obliquely  an  irrelevant  question.  Suppos- 
ing, in  the  old  days,  he  had  proceeded  to  reach  for 
Molly  as  he  was  now  reaching  for  the  emeralds — a  bit 
lawlessly?  After  all  these  years,  to  have  such  a 
thought  strike  him!  Hadn't  he  stepped  aside 
meekly  for  Conover?  Hadn't  he  observed  and  en- 
vied Conover's  dazzling  assault?  Supposing  Molly 
had  been  wavering,  and  this  method  of  attack 
had  decided  her?  Never  to  have  thought  of  that 
before!  What  did  a  woman  want?  A  love  storm, 
and  then  an  endless  after-calm.  And  it  had  taken 
him  twenty-odd  years  to  make  this  discovery. 

Fact.  He  had  never  been  shy  of  women.  He 
had  somehow  preferred  to  play  comrade  instead  of 
gallant;  and  all  the  women  had  taken  advantage  of 
that,  used  him  callously  to  pair  with  old  maids,  faded 
wives,  and  homely  debutantes. 

What  impellent  was  driving  him  toward  these 
introspections?  Kitty,  Molly's  girl.  Each  time  he 
saw  her  or  thought  of  her — the  uninvited  ghost  of  her 
mother.  Any  other  man  upon  seeing  Kitty  or 
thinking  about  her  would  have  jumped  into  the 
future  from  the  spring  of  a  dream.  The  disparity  in 
years  would  not  have  mattered.  It  was  all  nonsense, 
of  course.  But  for  his  dropping  into  the  office  and 
casually  picking  up  the  thread  of  his  acquaintance 
with  Kitty,  Molly — the  memory  of  her — would  have 
gone  on  dimming.  Actions,  tremendous  and  world- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  163 

wide,  had  set  his  vision  toward  the  future;  he  had 
been  too  busy  to  waste  time  in  retrospection  and 
introspection.  Thus,  instead  of  a  gently  rising  and 
falling  tide,  healthily  recurrent,  a  flood  of  mixed 
longings  that  was  swirling  him  into  uncertain  depths. 
Those  emeralds  had  bobbed  up  just  in  time.  The 
chase  would  serve  to  pull  him  out  of  this  bog. 

He  heard  a  footstep  and  looked  up.  The  nurse 
was  beckoning  to  him. 

"What  is  it?" 

"He's  awake,  and  there  is  sanity  in  his  eyes." 

"Great!    Has  he  talked?" 

"No.  The  awakening  happened  just  this  mo- 
ment, and  I  came  to  you.  You  never  can  tell  about 
blows  on  the  skull  or  brain  fever — never  any  two 
cases  alike." 

Cutty  threw  down  his  napkin  and  accompanied  the 
nurse  to  the  bedside.  The  glance  of  the  patient 
trailed  from  Cutty  to  the  nurse  and  back. 

"Don't  talk,"  said  Cutty.  "Don't  askj  any 
questions.  Take  it  easy  until  later  in  the  day. 
You  are  hi  the  hands  of  persons  who  wish  you  well. 
Eat  what  the  nurse  gives  you.  When  the  right  time 
comes  we'll  tell  you  all  about  ourselves.  You've 
been  robbed  and  beaten.  But  the  men  who  did  it 
are  under  arrest." 

"One  question,"  said  the  patient,  weakly. 

"Well,  just  one." 

"A  girl — who  gave  me  something  to  eat?" 


164  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Yes.  She  fed  you,  and  later  probably  saved 
your  life." 

"Thanks."     Hawksley  closed  his  eyes. 

Cutty  and  the  nurse  watched  him  interestedly  for  a 
few  minutes;  but  as  he  did  not  stir  again  the  nurse 
took  up  her  temperature  sheet  and  Cutty  returned  to 
his  eggs.  Was  there  a  girl?  No  question  about  the 
emeralds,  no  interest  in  the  day  and  the  hour.  Was 
there  a  girl?  The  last  person  he  had  seen,  Kitty; 
the  first  question,  after  coming  into  the  light:  Had 
he  seen  her?  Then  and  there  Cutty  knew  that 
when  he  died  he  would  carry  into  the  Beyond, 
of  all  his  earthly  possessions — a  chuckle.  Human 
beings ! 

The  yarn  that  reporter  had  missed  by  a  hair — 
front  page,  eight-column  head!  But  he  had  missed 
it,  and  that  was  the  main  thing.  The  poor  devil! 
Beaten  and  without  a  sou  marque  in  his  pockets,  his 
trail  was  likely  to  be  crowded  without  the  assistance 
of  any  newspaper  publicity.  But  what  a  yarn! 
What  a  whale  of  a  yarn ! 

In  his  fevered  flights  Hawksley  had  spoken  of 
having  paid  Kitty  for  that  meal. 

Kitty  had  said  nothing  about  it.     Supposing 

"Telephone,  sair,"  announced  the  Jap.     "Lady." 

Molly's  girl!  Cutty  sprinted  to  the  telephone. 
"Hello!  That  you,  Kitty?" 

"Yes.    How  is  Johnny  Two-Hawks?" 

"Back  to  earth." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  165 

"When  can  I  see  him?  I'm  just  crazy  to  know 
what  the  story  is!" 

"Say  the  third  or  fourth  day  from  this.  We'll 
have  him  shaved  and  sitting  up  then." 

"Has  he  talked?" 

"Not  permitted.  Still  determined  to  stay  the 
run  of  your  lease?"  Cutty  heard  a  laugh.  "All 
right.  Only  I  hope  you  will  never  have  cause  to 
regret  this  decision." 

"Fiddlesticks!  Ah*  I've  got  to  do  in  danger  is  to 
press  a  button,  and  presto!  here's  Bernini." 

"Kitty,  did  Hawksley  pay  you  for  that  meal?" 

"Good  heavens,  no!     What  makes  you  ask  that?" 

"In  his  delirium  he  spoke  of  having  paid  you.  I 
didn't  know."  Cutty's  heart  began  to  rap  against 
his  ribs.  Supposing,  after  all,  Karlov  hadn't  the 
stones?  Supposing  Hawksley  had  hidden  them 
somewhere  in  Kitty's  kitchen? 

"Anything  about  Gregor?" 

"No.  Remember,  you're  to  call  me  up  twice  a 
day  and  report  the  news.  Don't  go  out  nights  if  you 
can  avoid  it." 

"I'll  be  good,"  Kitty  agreed.  "And  now  I  must 
hie  me  to  the  job.  Imagine,  Cutty! — writing 
personalities  about  stage  folks  and  gabfesting  with 
Burlingame  and  all  the  while  my  brain  boiling  with 
this  affair!  The  city  room  will  kill  me,  Cutty,  if  it 
ever  finds  out  that  I  held  back  such  a  yarn.  But  it 
wouldn't  be  fair  to  Johnny  Two-Hawks.  Cutty,  did 


166  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

you  know  that  your  wonderful  drums  of  jeopardy 
are  here  in  New  York?'* 

"What? "barked  Cutty. 

"  Somebody  is  offering  to  buy  them.  There  was  an 
advertisement  in  the  paper  this  morning.  Cutty?" 

"Yes." 

"The  first  problem  in  arithmetic  is  two  and  two 
make  four.  By-by ! " 

Dizzily  Cutty  hung  up  the  receiver.  He  had  not 
reckoned  on  the  possibility  of  Kitty  seeing  that 
damfool  advertisement.  Two  and  two  made  four; 
and  four  and  four  made  eight;  so  on  indefinitely. 
That  is  to  say,  Kitty  already  had  a  glimmer  of  the 
startling  truth.  The  initial  misstep  on  his  part  had 
been  made  upon  her  pronouncement  of  the  name 
Stefani  Gregor.  He  hadn't  been  able  to  control  his 
surprise.  And  yesterday,  having  frankly  admitted 
that  he  knew  Gregor,  all  that  was  needed  to  complete 
the  circle  was  that  advertisement.  Cutty  tore  his 
hair,  literally.  The  very  door  he  hoped  she  might 
overlook  he  had  thrown  open  to  her. 

Thaddeus  of  Warsaw.  But  it  should  not  be.  He 
would  continue  to  offer  a  haven  to  that  chap;  but  no 
nonsense.  None  of  that  sinister  and  unfortunate 
blood  should  meddle  with  Kitty  Conover's  happiness. 
Her  self-appointed  guardian  would  attend  to  that. 

He  realized  that  his  attitude  was  rather  inexplic- 
able; but  there  were  some  adventures  which  hyp- 
notized women;  and  one  of  this  sort  was  now  unfold' 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  167 

ing  for  Kitty.  That  she  had  her  share  of  common 
sense  was  negligible  in  face  of  the  facts  that  she 
was  imaginative  and  romantical  and  adventuresome, 
and  that  for  the  first  time  she  was  riding  one  of  the 
great  middle  currents  in  human  events.  She  was 
Molly's  girl;  Cutty  was  going  to  look  out  for  her. 

Mighty  odd  that  this  fear  for  her  should  have 
sprung  into  being  that  night,  quite  illogically. 
Prescience?  He  could  not  say.  Perhaps  it  was  a 
borrowed  instinct — fatherly;  the  same  instinct  that 
would  have  stirred  her  father  into  action — the 
protection  of  that  dearest  to  him. 

If  he  told  her  who  Hawksley  really  was,  that 
would  intrigue  her.  If  he  made  a  mystery  of  the 
affair,  that,  too,  would  intrigue  her.  And  there  you 
were,  'twixt  the  devil  and  the  deep  blue  sea.  Hang 
it,  what  evil  luck  had  stirred  him  to  tell  her  about 
those  emeralds?  Already  she  was  building  a  story 
to  satisfy  her  dramatic  fancy.  Two  and  two  made 
four — which  signified  that  she  was  her  father's 
daughter,  that  she  would  not  rest  until  she  had 
explored  every  corner  of  this  dark  room.  Wanting 
to  keep  her  out  of  it,  and  then  dragging  her  into  it 
through  his  cupidity.  Devil  take  those  emeralds! 
Always  the  same;  trouble  wherever  they  were. 

The  real  danger  would  rise  during  the  convales- 
cence. Kitty  would  be  contriving  to  drop  in  fre- 
quently; not  to  see  Hawksley  especially,  but  her 
initial  success  in  playing  hide  and  seek  with  secret 


168  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

agents,  friendly  and  otherwise,  had  tickled  her  fancy. 
For  a  while  it  would  be  an  exciting  game;  then  it 
might  become  only  a  means  to  an  end.  Well,  it 
should  not  be. 

Was  there  a  girl !  Already  Hawksley  had  recorded 
her  beauty.  Very  well;  the  first  sign  of  sentimental 
nonsense,  and  out  he  should  go,  Karlov  or  no  Karlov. 
Kitty  wasn't  going  to  know  any  hurt  in  this  affair. 
That  much  was  decided. 

Cutty  stormed  into  his  study,  growling  audibly. 
He  filled  a  pipe  and  smoked  savagely.  Another  side, 
Kitty's  entrance  into  the  drama  promised  to  spoil  his 
own  fun;  he  would  have  to  play  two  games  instead  of 
one.  A  fine  muddle! 

He:  came  to  a  stand  before  one  of  the  windows  and 
saw  the  glory  of  the  morning  flashing  from  the 
myriad  spires  and  towers  and  roofs,  and  wondered 
why  artists  bothered  about  cows  in  pastures. 

Touching  his  knees  was  an  antique  Florentine 
bridal  chest,  with  exquisite  carving  and  massive  lock. 
He  threw  back  the  lid  and  disclosed  a  miscellany 
never  seen  by  any  eye  save  his  own.  It  was  all  the 
garret  he  had.  He  dug  into  it  and  at  length  resur- 
rected the  photograph  of  a  woman  whose  face  was 
both  roguish  and  beautiful.  He  sat  on  the  floor  a  la 
Turk  and  studied  the  face,  his  own  tender  and  wistful. 
No  resemblance  to  Kitty  except  in  the  eyes.  How 
often  he  had  gone  to  her  with  the  question  burning 
his  lips,  only  to  carry  it  away  unspoken!  He  turned 


Tfie  Drums  of  Jeopardy  169 

over  the  photograph  and  read:  "To  the  nicest  man  I 
know.  With  love  from  Molly."  With  love.  And 
he  had  stepped  aside  for  Tommy  Conover! 

By  George!  He  dropped  the  photograph  into  the 
chest,  let  down  the  lid,  and  rose  to  his  feet.  Not  a 
bad  idea,  that.  To  intrigue  Kitty  himself,  to  smother 
her  with  attentions  and  gallantries,  to  give  her  out  of 
his  wide  experience,  and  to  play  the  game  until  this 
intruder  was  on  his  way  elsewhere. 

He  could  do  it;  and  he  based  his  assurance  upon 
his  experiences  and  observations.  Never  a  squire  of 
dames,  he  knew  the  part.  He  had  played  the  game 
occasionally  hi  the  capitals  of  Europe  when  there  had 
been  some  information  he  had  particularly  desired. 
Clever,  scheming  women,  too.  A  clever,  passably 
good-looking  elderly  man  could  make  himself  pe- 
culiarly attractive  to  young  women  and  women  in 
the  thirties.  Dazzlement  for  the  young;  the  man 
who  knew  all  about  life,  the  trivial  little  courtesies 
a  younger  man  generally  forgot;  the  moving  of  chairs, 
the  holding  of  wraps;  tie  gray  hairs  which  served  to 
invite  trust  and  confidence,  which  lulled  the  eternal 
feminine  fear  of  the  male.  To  the  older  women,  no 
callow  youth  but  a  man  of  discernment,  discretion, 
wit  and  fancy  and  daring,  who  remembered  birth- 
days husbands  forgot,  who  was  always  round  when 
wanted. 

There  was  no  vanity  back  of  these  premises.  Cutty 
was  merely  reaching  about  for  an  expedient  to 


170  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

thwart  what  to  his  anticipatory  mind  promised  to  be 
an  inevitability.  Of  course  the  glamour  would  not 
last;  it  never  did,  but  he  felt  he  could  sustain  it  until 
yonder  chap  was  off  and  away. 

That  evening  at  five-thirty  Kitty  received  a  box 
of  beautiful  roses,  with  Cutty's  card. 

"Oh,  the  lovely  things!"  she  cried. 

She  kissed  them  and  set  them  in  a  big  copper  jug, 
arranged  and  rearranged  them  for  the  simple  pleasure 
it  afforded  her.  What  a  dear  man  this  Cutty  was, 
to  have  thought  of  her  in  this  fashion!  Her  father's 
friend,  her  mother's,  and  now  hers;  she  had  inherited 
him.  This  thought  caused  her  to  smile,  but  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes.  A  garden  some  day  to  play 
in,  this  mad  city  far  away,  a  home  of  her  own;  would 
it  ever  happen? 

The  bell  rang.  She  wasn't  going  to  like  this 
caller  for  taking  her  away  from  these  roses,  the  first 
she  had  received  in  a  long  time — roses  she  could  keep 
and  not  toss  out  the  window.  For  it  must  not  be 
understood  that  Kitty  was  never  besieged. 

Outside  stood  a  well-dressed  gentleman,  older 
than  Cutty,  with  shrewd,  mquiring  gray  eyes  and  a 
face  with  strong  salients. 

"Pardon  me,  but  I  am  looking  for  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Stephen  Gregory.  I  was  referred  by  the 
janitor  to  you.  You  are  Miss  Conover?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Kitty.  "Will  you  come  in?" 
She  ushered  the  stranger  into  the  living  room  and 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  171 

indicated  a  chair.  "  Please  excuse  me  for  a  moment.'' 
Kitty  went  into  her  bedroom  and  touched  the  dan- 
ger button,  which  would  summon  Bernini.  She 
wanted  her  watchdog  to  see  the  visitor.  [She  re- 
turned to  the  living  room.  "What  is  it  you  wish 
to  know?" 

"Where  I  may  find  this  Gregory." 

"That  nobody  seems  able  to  answer.  He  was 
carried  away  from  here  in  an  ambulance;  but  we 
have  been  unable  to  locate  the  hospital.  If  you  will 
leave  your  name — 

"That  is  not  necessary.  I  am  out  of  bounds,  you 
might  say,  and  I'd  rather  my  name  should  be  left  out 
of  the  affair,  which  is  rather  peculiar." 

"In  what  way?" 

"I  am  only  an  agent,  and  am  not  at  liberty  to 
speak.  Could  you  describe  Gregory?" 

"Then  he  is  a  stranger  to  you?" 

"Absolutely." 

Kitty  described  Gregor  deliberately  and  at  length. 
It  struck  her  that  the  visitor  was  becoming  bored, 
though  he  nodded  at  times.  She  was  glad  to  hear 
Bernini's  ring.  She  excused  herself  to  admit  the 
Italian. 

"A  false  alarm,"  she  whispered.  "Someone  in- 
quiring for  Gregor.  I  thought  it  might  be  well  for 
you  to  see  him." 

"I'll  work  the  radiator  stuff." 

"Very  well." 


172  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Bernini  went  into  the  living  room  and  fussed  over 
the  steam  cock  of  the  radiator. 

"Nothing  the  matter  with  it,  miss.     Just  stuck." 

"Sorry  to  have  troubled  you,"  said  the  stranger, 
rising  and  picking  up  his  hat. 

Bernini  went  down  to  the  basement,  obfuscated; 
for  he  knew  the  visitor.  He  was  one  of  the  greatest 
bankers  in  New  York — that  is  to  say,  in  America! 
Asking  questions  about  Stefani  Gregor! 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  "OUT  nine  o'clock  that  same  night  a  certain 
rich  man,  having  established  himself  com- 
fortably under  the  reading  lamp,  a  fine  book 
in  his  hands  and  a  fine  after-dinner  cigar  between  his 
teeth,  was  exceedingly  resentful  when  his  butler 
knocked,  entered,  and  presented  a  card. 

"My  orders  were  that  I  was  not  at  home  to  any 
one." 

"Yes,  sir.  But  he  said  you  would  see  him  because 
he  came  to  see  you  regarding  a  Mr.  Gregory." 

"What?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Damn  these  newspapers!  .  .  .  Wait,  wait!" 
the  banker  called,  for  the  butler  was  starting  for  the 
door  to  carry  the  anathema  to  the  appointed  head. 
"Bring  him  in.  He's  a  big  bug,  and  I  can't  afford  to 
affront  him." 

"Yes,  sir" — with  the  colourless  tone  of  a  perfect 
servant. 

When  the  visitor  entered  he  stopped  just  beyond 
the  threshold.  He  remained  there  even  after  the 
butler  closed  the  door.  Blue  eye  and  gray  clashed; 
two  masters  of  fence  who  had  executed  the  same 
stroke.  The  banker  laughed  and  Cutty  smiled. 

173 


174  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"I  suppose/*  said  the  banker,  "you  and  I  ought 
to  sign  an  armistice,  too." 

"Agreed." 

"And  you've  always  been  rather  a  puzzle  to  me. 
A  rich  man,  a  gentleman,  and  yet  sticking  to  the 
newspaper  game." 

"And  you're  a  puzzle  to  me,  too.  A  rich  man,  a 
gentleman,  and  yet  sticking  to  the  banking  game." 

"What  the  devil  was  our  row  about?" 

"Can't  quite  recall." 

"Whatever  it  was  it  was  the  way  you  went  at  it." 

"A  reform  was  never  yet  accomplished  by  purring 
and  pussyfooting,"  said  Cutty. 

"Come  over  and  sit  down.  Now,  how  the  devil 
did  you  find  out  about  this  Gregory  affair?"  The 
banker  held  out  his  hand,  which  Cutty  grasped  with 
honest  pressure.  "If  you  are  here  in  the  capacity 
of  a  newspaper  man,  not  a  word  out  of  me.  Have  a 
cigar?" 

"I  never  smoke  anything  but  pipes  that  ruin 
curtains.  You  should  have  given  your  name  to  Miss 
Conover." 

"I  was  under  promise  not  to  explain  my  business. 
But  before  we  proceed,  an  answer.  Newspaper?" 

"No.  I  represent  the  Department  of  Justice. 
And  we'll  get  along  easier  when  I  add  that  I  possess 
rather  unlimited  powers  under  that  head.  How  did 
you  happen  to  stumble  into  this  affair?" 

"  Through  Captain  Rathbone,  my  prospective  son- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  175 

in-law,  who  is  in  Coblenz.  A  cable  arrived  this  morn- 
ing, instructing  me  to  proceed  precisely  in  the  manner 
I  did.  Rathbone  is  an  intimate  friend  of  the  man 
I  was  actually  seeking.  The  apartment  of  this  man 
Gregory  was  mentioned  to  Rathbone  hi  a  cable  as  a 
possible  temporary  abiding  place.  What  do  you 
want  to  know?" 

"Whether  or  not  he  is  undesirable." 

"Decidedly,  I  should  say,  desirable." 

"You  make  that  statement  as  an  American 
citizen?" 

"I  do.  I  make  it  unreservedly  because  my  future 
son-in-law  is  rather  a  difficult  man  to  make  friends 
with.  I  am  acting  merely  as  Rathbone's  agent.  On 
the  other  hand,  I  should  be  a  cheerful  liar  if  I  told 
you  I  wasn't  interested.  What  do  you  know?" 

"Everything,"  answered  Cutty,  quietly. 

"You  know  where  this  young  man  is?" 

"At  this  moment  he  is  in  my  apartment,  rather 
seriously  battered  and  absolutely  penniless." 

"Well,  I'll  be  tinker-dammed!  You  know  who 
he  is,  of  course?" 

"Yes.  And  I  want  all  your  information  so  that 
I  may  guide  my  future  actions  accordingly.  If  he  is 
really  undesirable  he  shall  be  deported  the  moment 
he  can  stand  on  his  two  feet." 

The  banker  pyramided  his  fingers,  rather  pleased 
to  learn  that  he  could  astonish  this  interesting  beg- 
gar. "He  has  on  account  at  my  bank  half  a  million 


176  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

dollars.  Originally  he  had  eight  hundred  thousand. 
The  three  hundred  thousand,  under  cable  orders 
from  Yokohama,  was  transferred  to  our  branch  in 
San  Francisco.  This  was  withdrawn  about  two 
weeks  ago.  How  does  that  strike  you?" 

"All  in  a  heap,"  confessed  Cutty.  "When  was 
this  fund  established  with  you?" 

"Shortly  before  Kerensky's  government  blew  up. 
The  funds  were  in  our  London  bank.  There  was,  of 
course,  a  lot  of  red  tape,  excessive  charges  in  ex- 
change, and  all  that.  Anyhow,  about  eight  hundred 
thousand  arrived." 

"What  brought  him  to  America?  Why  didn't  he 
go  to  England?  That  would  have  been  the  safest 
haven." 

"I  can  explain  that.  He  intends  to  become  an 
American  citizen.  Some  time  ago  he  became  the 
owner  of  a  fine  cattle  ranch  in  Montana." 

"Well,  I'll  be  tinker-dammed,  too!"  exploded 
Cutty. 

"A  young  man  with  these  ideas  in  his  head  ought 
eventually  to  become  a  first-rate  citizen.  What  do 
you  say?" 

"I  am  considerably  relieved.  His  forbears,  the 
blood " 

"His  mother  was  a  healthy  Italian  peasant — a 
famous  singer  in  her  tune.  His  fortune,  I  take  it, 
was  his  inheritance  from  her.  She  made  a  fortune 
singing  in  the  capitals  of  Europe  and  speculating  from 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  177 

\\ 
time  to  time.     She  sent  the  boy,  at  the  age  of  ten,  to 

England.  Afraid  of  the  home  influence.  He  re- 
mained there,  under  the  name  of  Hawksley,  for  some- 
thing like  fourteen  years,  under  the  guardianship  of 
this  fellow  Gregory.  Of  Gregory  I  know  positively 
nothing.  The  young  fellow  is,  to  all  purposes, 
methods  of  living,  points  of  view,  an  Englishman. 
Rathbone,  who  was  educated  at  Oxford,  met  hirq 
there  and  they  shared  quarters.  But  it  was  only 
in  recent  years  that  he  learned  the  identity  of  his 
friend.  In  1914  the  young  fellow  returned  to  Russia. 
Military  obligations.  That's  all  I  know.  Mighty 
interesting,  though." 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  The  white  elephant 
becomes  a  normal  drab  pachyderm,"  said  Cutty. 

"Still  something  of  an  elephant  on  your  hands.  I 
see.  Bring  him  here  if  you  wish." 

"And  sic  the  Bolshevik  at  your  door." 

"That's  so.  You  spoke  of  his  having  been  beaten 
and  robbed.  Bolshevik?" 

"Yes.  An  old  line  of  reasoning  first  put  into  effect 
by  Oliver  Cromwell.  The  axe." 

"The  poor  devil!" 

"Fact.  I'm  sorry  for  him,  but  I  wish  he  would 
blow  away  conveniently." 

"Rathbone  says  he's  handsome,  gay,  but  decent, 
considering.  Humanity  is  being  knocked  about  some. 
The  hour  has  come  for  our  lawyers  to  go  back  to  their 
offices.  Politics  must  step  aside  for  business.  We 


178  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

ought  to  hang  up  signs  in  every  state  capitol  in  the? 
country:  'Men  Wanted — Specialists.'  A  steel  man 
from  Pittsburgh,  a  mining  man  from  Idaho,  a  ship- 
owner from  Boston,  a  meat  packer  from  Omaha,  a 
gram  man  from  Chicago.  What  the  devil  do  law- 
yers know  about  these  things — the  energies  that  make 
the  wheels  of  this  country  go  round?  By  the  way, 
that  Miss  Conover  was  a  remarkably  pretty  girl. 
She  seemed  to  be  a  bit  suspicious  of  me." 

"Good  reasons.  That  chap  went  to  Gregor's — 
Gregor  is  his  name — and  was  beaten,  robbed,  and  left 
for  dead.  She  saved  his  life." 

"Good  Lord!    Does  she  know?" 

"No.  And  what's  more,  I  don't  want  her  to.  I 
am  practically  her  guardian." 

"Then  you  ought  to  get  her  out  of  that  roost." 

"Hang  it,  I  can't  get  her  to  leave.  I'm  not 
legally  her  guardian;  self-appointed.  But  she  has 
agreed  to  leave  in  May." 

"I'm  glad  you  dropped  in.  Command  me  in  any 
way  you  please." 

"That's  very  good  of  you,  considering." 

"The  war  is  over.  We'd  be  a  fine  pair  of  fools  to 
let  an  ancient  grudge  go  on.  They  tell  me  you've 
a  wonderful  apartment  on  top  of  that  skyscraper  of 
yours." 

"Will  you  come  to  dinner  some  night?" 

"Any  time  you  say.  I  should  like  to  bring  my 
daughter." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  179 

" She  doesn't  know?" 

"No.     Heard  of  Hawksley;  thinks  he's  English." 

"I  am  certainly  agreeable."  This  would  be  a 
distinct  advantage  to  Kitty.  "I  see  you  have  a  good 
book  there.  I'll  take  myself  off." 

In  the  Avenue  Cutty  loaded  his  pipe.  He  struck 
a  match  on  the  flagstone  and  cupped  it  over  the  bowl 
of  his  pipe,  thereby  throwing  his  picturesque  count- 
enance into  ruddy  relief.  Opposite  emotions  filled 
the  hearts  of  the  two  men  watching  him — in  one, 
chagrin;  in  the  other,  exultation. 

Cutty  decided  to  walk  downtown,  the  night  being 
fine.  He  set  his  foot  to  a  long,  swinging  stride.  An 
elephant  on  his  hands,  truly.  Poor  devil,  for  a  fact! 
Nobody  wanted  him,  not  even  those  who  wished 
him  well.  Wanted  to  become  an  American  citizen. 
He  would  have  been  tolerably  safe  in  England. 
Here  he  would  never  be  free  of  danger.  A  ranch. 
The  beggar  would  have  a  chance  out  there  in  the 
West.  The  anarchist  and  the  Bolshevik  were  town 
cooties.  His  one  chance,  actually.  The  poor  devil! 
Kitty  had  the  right  idea.  It  was  a  mighty  fine  thing, 
these  times,  to  be  a  citizen  under  the  protection  of  the 
American  doctrine. 

Three  hundred  thousand!  And  Karlov  had  got 
that  along  with  the  drums.  The  devil's  own  for 
luck!  The  fool  would  be  able  to  start  some  fine 
ructions  with  all  that  capital  behind  him. 

Episodes  in  the  night. 


180  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Kitty  dreamed  of  wonderful  rose  gardens,  endless 
and  changing;  but  strive  as  she  would  she  could  not 
find  Cutty  anywhere,  which  worried  her,  even  in  her 
dream. 

The  nurse  heard  the  patient  utter  a  single  word 
several  times  before  he  fell  asleep. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"Fan!"     And  he  smiled. 

She  hunted  for  the  palm  leaf,  but  with  a  slight 
gesture  he  signified  that  that  was  not  what  he  wanted. 

Cutty  played  solitaire  with  his  chrysoprase  until 
the  telephone  broke  in  upon  his  reveries.  What  he 
heard  over  the  wire  disturbed  him  greatly. 

"You  were  followed  from  the  Avenue  to  the 
apartment." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I  am  Henderson.  You  assigned  me  to  watch  the 
apartment  in  Eightieth  through  the  night.  I  fol- 
lowed the  man  who  followed  you.  He  saw  your  face 
when  you  lit  the  pipe.  When  the  banker  left  Miss 
Conover  he  was  followed  home.  That  established 
him  in  the  affair.  The  follower  hung  round,  and  so 
did  I.  You  appeared.  He  took  a  chance  shot  in 
the  dark.  Not  sure,  but  doing  a  bit  of  clever  guess- 
ing." 

"You  still  followed  him?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  did  he  wind  up?" 

"A  house    in    the    warehouse    district.    Vacant 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  181 

warehouses  on  each  side.  Some  new  nest.  I  can 
lead  you  to  it,  sir,  any  time  you  wish." 

"Thanks." 

Cutty  pushed  aside  the  telephone  and  returned  to 
his  green  stones.  After  all,  why  worry?  It  was  un- 
fortunate, of  course,  but  the  apartment  was  more  in- 
accessible than  the  top  of  the  Matterhorn.  Still, 
they  might  discover  what  his  real  business  was  and 
interfere  seriously  with  his  future  work  on  the  other 
side.  A  ruin  in  the  warehouse  district?  A  good 
place  to  look  for  Stef ani  Gregor — if  he  were  still  alive. 

He  was.  And  in  his  dark  room  he  cried  piteously 
for  water — water — water! 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  MARCH  day,  sunny  and  cloudless,  with  fresh, 
bracing  winds.  Green  things  pushed  up 
from  the  soil;  an  eternal  something  was  hap- 
pening to  the  tips  of  the  tree  branches;  an  eternal 
something  was  happening  in  young  hearts.  A 
robin  shook  the  dust  of  travel  from  his  wings  and 
bathed  publicly  in  a  park  basin. 

Here  and  there  under  the  ten  thousand  roofs  of 
the  great  city  poets  were  busy  with  inkpots,  trying 
to  say  an  old  thing  in  a  new  way.  Woe  to  the  pinched 
soul  that  did  not  expand  this  day,  for  it  was  spring. 
Expansion!  Nature — perhaps  she  was  relenting  a 
little,  perhaps  she  saw  that  humanity  was  sliding 
down  the  scale,  withering,  and  a  bit  of  extra  sunshine 
would  serve  to  check  the  descension  and  breed  a  little 
optimism. 

Cutty's  study.  The  sunlight,  thrown  westward, 
turned  windows  and  roofs  and  towers  into  incom- 
parable bijoux.  The  double  reflection  cast  a  white 
light  into  the  room,  lifting  out  the  blue  and  old-rose 
tints  of  the  Ispahan  rug. 

Cutty  shifted  the  chrysoprase,  irresolutely  for  him. 
A  dozen  problems,  and  it  was  mighty  hard  to  decide 
which  to  tackle  first.  Principally  there  was  Kitty. 

182 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  183 

He  had  not  seen  her  in  four  days,  deeming  it  advis- 
able for  her  not  to  call  for  the  present.  The  Bolshe- 
vik agent  who  had  followed  him  from  the  banker's 
might  decide,  without  the  aid  of  some  connecting 
episode,  "that  he  had  wasted  his  time. 

It  did  not  matter  that  Kitty  herself  was  no  longer 
watched  and  followed  from  her  home  to  the  office, 
from  the  office  home.  Was  Karlov  afraid  or  had  he 
some  new  trick  up  his  sleeve?  It  was  not  possible 
that  he  had  given  up  Hawksley.  He  was  probably 
planning  an  attack  from  some  unexpected  angle.  To 
be  sure  that  Karlov  would  not  find  reason  to  associate 
him  with  Kitty,  Cutty  had  remained  indoors  during 
the  daytime  and  gone  forth  at  night  in  his  dungarees. 

Problem  Two  was  quite  as  formidable.  The  secret 
agent  who  had  passed  as  a  negotiator  for  the  drums 
of  jeopardy  had  disappeared.  That  had  sinister 
significance.  Karlov  did  not  intend  to  sell  the 
drums;  merely  wanted  precise  information  regarding 
the  man  who  had  advertised  for  them.  If  the  secret- 
service  man  weakened  under  torture,  Cutty  recog- 
nized that  his  own  usefulness  would  be  at  an  end. 
He  would  have  to  step  aside  and  let  the  great  cur- 
rents sweep  on  without  him.  In  that  event  these 
fifty-two  years  would  pile  upon  his  head,  full  meas- 
ure; for  the  only  thing  that  kept  him  vigorous  was 
action,  interest.  Without  some  great  incentive  he 
would  shrivel  up  and  blow  away — like  some  ex- 
humed mummy. 


184  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Problem  Three.  How  the  deuce  was  he  going  to 
fascinate  Kitty  if  he  couldn't  see  her?  But  there 
was  a  bit  of  silver  lining  here.  If  he  couldn't  see  her, 
what  chance  had  Hawksley?  The  whole  sense  and 
prompting  of  this  problem  was  to  keep  Kitty  and 
Hawksley  apart.  How  this  was  accomplished  was 
of  no  vital  importance.  Problem  Three,  then,  hung 
fire  for  the  present.  Funny,  how  this  idea  stuck  in 
his  head,  that  Hawksley  was  a  menace  to  Kitty.  One 
of  those  fool  ideas,  probably,  but  worth  trying  out. 

Problem  Four.  That  night,  all  on  his  own,  he 
would  make  an  attempt  to  enter  that  ©Id  house 
sandwiched  between  the  two  vacant  warehouses. 
Through  pressure  of  authority  he  had  obtained  keys 
to  both  warehouses.  There  would  be  a  trap  on  the 
roof  of  that  house.  Doubtless  it  would  be  covered 
with  tin;  fairly  impregnable  if  latched  below.  But 
he  could  find  out.  From  the  third-floor  windows  of 
either  warehouse  the  drop  was  not  more  than  six 
feet.  If  anywhere  in  town  poor  old  Stefani  Gregor 
would  be  in  one  of  those  rooms.  But  to  storm  the 
house  frontaUy,  without  being  absolutely  sure,  would 
be  folly.  Gregor  would  be  killed.  The  house  was 
in  fact  an  insane  asylum,  occupied  by  super-insane 
men.  Warned,  they  were  capable  of  bio  whig  the 
house  to  kingdom  come,  themselves  with  it. 

Problem  Five  was  a  mere  vanishing  point.  He 
doubted  if  he  would  ever  see  those  emeralds.  What 
an  infernal  pity! 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  185 

He  built  a  coronet  and  leaned  back,  a  wisp  of 
smoke  darting  up  from  the  bowl  of  his  pipe. 

"I  say,  you  know,  but  that's  a  ripping  game  to 
play!"  drawled  a  tired  voice  over  his  shoulder. 

Cutty  turned  his  head,  to  behold  Hawksley, 
shaven,  pale,  and  handsome,  wrapped  in  a  bed  quilt 
and  swaying  slightly. 

"What  the  deuce  are  you  doing  out  of  your 
room?"  growled  Cutty,  but  with  the  growl  of  a 
friendly  dog. 

Hawksley  dropped  into  a  chair  weakly.  "End  of 
my  rope.  Got  to  talk  to  someone.  Go  dotty,  else. 
Questions.  Skull  aches  with  'em.  Want  to  know 
whether  this  is  a  foretaste  of  the  life  I  have  a  right  to 
live — or  the  beginning  of  death.  Be  a  good  sport, 
and  let's  have  it  out." 

"What  is  it  you  wish  to  know?"  asked  Cutty, 
gently.  The  poor  beggar! 

"Where  I  am.  Who  you  are.  What  happened 
to  me.  What  is  going  to  happen  to  me,"  rather 
breathlessly.  "Don't  want  any  more  suspense. 
Don't  want  to  look  over  my  shoulder  any  more. 
Straight  ahead.  All  the  cards  on  the  table, 
please." 

Cutty  rose  and  pushed  the  invalid's  chair  to  a 
window  and  drew  another  up  beside  it. 

"My  word,  the  top  of  the  world!  Bally  odd 
roost." 

"You  will  find  it  safer  here  than  you  would  on  the 


186  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

shores  of  Kaspiiskoi  More,"  replied  Cutty,  gravely. 
"The  Caspian  wouldn't  be  a  healthy  place  for  you 
now." 

With  wide  eyes  Hawksley  stared  across  the  shining, 
wavering  roofs.  A  pause.  "What  do  you  know?" 
he  asked,  faintly. 

"Everything.  But  wait!"  Cutty  fetched  one  of 
the  photographs  and  laid  it  upon  the  young  man's 
knees.  "Know  who  this  is — Two-Hawks?" 

A  strained,  tense  gesture  as  Hawksley  seized  the 
photograph;  then  his  chin  sank  slowly  to  his  chest. 
A  moment  later  Cutty  was  profoundly  astonished  to 
see  something  sparkle  on  its  way  down  the  bed  quilt. 
Tears! 

"I'm  sorry!"  cried  Cutty,  troubled  and  embar- 
rassed. "I'm  terribly  sorry!  I  should  have  had  the 
decency  to  wait  a  day  or  two." 

"On  the  contrary,  thank  you!"  Hawksley  flung 
up  his  head.  "Nothing  in  all  God's  muddled  world 
could  be  more  timely — the  face  of  my  mother!  I  am 
not  ashamed  of  these  tears.  I  am  not  afraid  to  die. 
I  am  not  even  afraid  to  live.  But  all  the  things  I 
loved — the  familiar  earth,  the  human  beings,  my 
dog — gone.  I  am  alone." 

"I'm  sorry,"  repeated  Cutty,  a  bit  choked  up. 
This  was  honest  misery  and  it  affected  him  deeply. 
He  felt  himself  singularly  drawn. 

"I  want  to  live.  Because  I  am  young?  No.  I 
want  to  prove  to  the  shades  of  those  who  loved  me 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  187 

that  I  am  fit  to  go  on.  So  my  identity  is  known  to 
you?  " — dejectedly. 

"Yes.     You  wish  me  to  forget  what  I  know?" 

"  Will  you?  "—eagerly .  "  Will  you  forget  that  I  am 
anything  but  a  naked,  friendless  human  being?" 

"Yes.     But  your  enemies  know." 

"I  rather  fancy  they  will  keep  the  truth  to  them- 
selves. Let  them  publish  my  identity,  and  a  hundred 
havens  would  be  offered.  Your  Government  would 
protect  me." 

"It  is  doing  so  now,  indirectly.  But  why  do  you 
not  want  it  known?" 

"Freedom!  Would  I  have  it  if  known?  Could 
I  trust  anybody?  Would  it  not  be  essentially  the 
old  life  in  a  new  land?  I  want  a  new  life  in  a  new 
land.  I  want  to  be  born  again.  I  want  to  be  what 
you  patently  are,  an  American.  That  is  why  I  risked 
life  a  hundred  times  in  coming  all  these  miles,  why  I 
sit  in  this  chair  before  you,  with  the  room  rocking 
because  they  battered  in  my  head.  I  do  not  offer  a 
human  wreck,  an  illiterate  mind,  in  exchange  for 
citizenship.  I  bring  a  tolerably  decetit  manhood. 
Try  me!  Always  I  have  admired  you  people.  Al- 
ways we  Russians  have.  But  there  is  no  Russia 
now — that  I  can  ever  return  to!"  Hawksley's  head 
drooped  again  and  his  bloodshot  eyes  closed. 

Cutty  sensed  confusion,  indecision;  all  his  deduc- 
tions were  upset  in  the  face  of  this  strange  appeal. 
Russian,  born  of  an  Italian  mother  and  speaking 


188  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Oxford  English  as  if  it  were  his  birthright;  and  want- 
ing citizenship !  Wasn't  ashamed  of  his  tears;  wasn't 
afraid  to  die  or  to  live!  Cutty  searched  quickly 
for  a  new  handhold  to  his  antagonism,  but  he  found 
only  straws.  He  was  honest  enough  to  realize  that 
he  had  built  this  antagonism  upon  a  want,  a  desire; 
there  was  no  foundation  for  it.  Downright  likeable. 
A  chap  who  had  gone  through  so  much,  who  was  in 
such  a  pitiable  condition,  would  not  have  the  wit 
to  manufacture  character,  camouflage  his  soul. 

"Hang  it!"  he  said,  briskly.  "You  shall  have 
your  chance.  Talk  like  that  will  carry  a  man  any- 
where hi  this  country.  You  shall  stay  here  until  you 
are  strong  again.  Then  some  night  I'll  put  you  on 
your  train  for  Montana.  You  want  to  ask  questions. 
I'll  save  you  the  trouble  by  telling  you  what  I  know." 

But  his  narrative  contained  no  mention  of  the 
emeralds.  Why?  A  bit  conscience-stricken  because, 
if  he  could,  he  was  going  to  rob  his  guest  on  the  basis 
that  findings  is  keepings?  Cutty  wasn't  ready  to 
analyze  the  omission.  Perhaps  he  wanted  Hawksley 
himself  to  inquire  about  the  stones;  test  him  out. 
If  he  asked  frankly  that  would  signify  that  he  had 
brought  the  stones  in  honestly,  paid  his  obligations 
to  the  Customs.  Otherwise,  smuggling;  and  in  that 
event  conscience  wouldn't  matter;  the  emeralds  be- 
came a  game  anybody  could  take  a  hand  in — any- 
body who  considered  the  United  States  Customs  an 
infringement  upon  human  rights. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  189 

What  a  devil  of  a  call  those  stones  had  for  him! 
Did  they  mean  anything  to  Hawksley  aside  from 
their  intrinsic  value?  But  for  the  nebulous  idea, 
originally,  that  the  emeralds  were  mixed  up  some- 
where in  this  adventure,  Cutty  knew  that  he  would 
have  sent  Hawksley  to  a  hospital,  left  him  to  his  fate, 
and  never  known  who  he  was. 

All  through  the  narration  Hawksley  listened  mo- 
tionless, with  his  eyes  closed,  possibly  to  keep  the 
wavering  instability  of  the  walls  from  interfering 
with  his  assimilation  of  this  astonishing  series  of 
fact. 

"Found  you  insensible  on  the  floor,"  concluded 
Cutty,  "hoisted  you  to  my  shoulders,  took  you  to  the 
street — and  here  you  are!" 

Hawksley  opened  his  eyes.  "I  say,  you  know, 
what  a  devil  of  an  old  Sherlock  you  must  be!  And 
you  carried  me  on  your  shoulders  across  that  fire 
escape?  Ripping!  When  I  stepped  back  into  that 
room  I  heard  a  rushing  sound.  I  knew!  But  I 
didn't  have  the  least  chance.  .  .  .  You  and  that 
bully  girl!" 

Cutty  swore  under  his  breath.  He  had  taken 
particular  pains  to  avoid  mentioning  Kitty;  and 
here,  first  off,  the  fat  was  in  the  fire.  He  remem- 
bered now  that  he  had  told  Hawksley  that  Kitty 
had  saved  his  life.  Fortunately,  the  chap  wasn't 
keen  enough  with  that  banged-up  head  of  his  to  apply 
reason  to  the  omission. 


190  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Saved  my  life.  Suppose  she  doesn't  want  me  to 
know." 

Cutty  jumped  at  this.  "Doesn't  care  to  be 
mixed  up  with  the  Bolshevik  end  of  it.  Besides, 
she  doesn't  know  who  you  are." 

"The  fewer  that  know  the  better.  But  I'll  al- 
ways remember  her  kindness  and  that  bally  pistol 
with  the  fan  in  it.  But  you?  Why  did  you  bother 
to  bring  me  up  here?" 

"Couldn't  decently  leave  you  where  Karlov  could 
get  to  you  again." 

"Is  Stefani  Gregor  dead?" 

"Don't  know;  probably  not.  But  we  are  hunting 
for  him."  Cutty  had  not  explained  his  interest  in 
Gregor.  Those  plaguey  stones  again.  They  were 
demoralizing  him.  Loot. 

"You  spoke  of  Karlov.     Who  is  he?" 

"Why,  the  man  who  followed  you  across  half  the 
world." 

"There  were  many.     What  is  he  like?" 

"A  gorilla." 

"  Ah !' '  Hawksley  became  galvanized  and  extended 
his  fists.  "God  let  me  live  long  enough  to  put  my 
hands  on  him!  I  had  the  chance  the  other  day — to 
blot  out  his  face  with  my  boots!  But  I  couldn't  do 
it!  I  couldn't  do  it!"  He  sagged  in  the  chair. 
"No,  no!  Just  a  bit  groggy.  All  right  in  a  mo- 
ment." 

"By  the  Lord  Harry,  I'll  see  you  through.    Now 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  191 

buck  up.  Hear  that?"  cried  Cutty,  throwing  up  a 
window. 

"Music." 

"Look  through  that  street  there.  See  the  glint 
of  bayonets?  American  soldiers,  marching  up  Fifth 
Avenue,  thousands  of  them,  freemen  who  broke  the 
vaunted  Hindenburg  Line.  God  bless  'em!  Ameri- 
cans, every  mother's  son  of  'em;  who  went  away 
laughing,  who  returned  laughing,  who  will  go  back 
to  their  jobs  laughing.  The  ability  to  laugh,  that's 
America.  Do  you  know  how  to  laugh?" 

"I  used  to.  I'm  jolly  weak  just  now.  But  I'll 
grin  if  you  want  me  to."  And  Hawksley  grinned. 

"That's  the  way.  A  grin  in  this  country  will  take 
you  quite  as  far.  All  right.  In  five  years  you'll 
be  voting.  I'll  see  to  that.  Now  back  to  bed  with 
you,  and  no  more  leaving  it  until  the  nurse  says  so. 
What  you  need  is  rest." 

Cutty  sent  a  call  to  the  nurse,  who  was  standing 
undecidedly  in  the  doorway;  and  together  they  put 
the-  derelict  back  to  bed.  Then  Cutty  fetched  the 
photograph  and  set  it  on  top  of  the  dresser,  where 
Hawksley  could  see  it. 

"Now,  no  more  gallivanting  about." 

"I  promise,  old  top.  This  bed  is  a  little  bit  of  all 
right.  I  say!" 

"What?" 

"How  long  am  I  to  be  here?" 

"If  you're  good,  two  weeks,"  interposed  the  nurse. 


192  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Two  weeks?  I  say,  would  you  mind  doing  me  a 
trifling  favour?  I'd  like  a  violin  to  amuse  myself 
with." 

"  A  fiddle?  I  don't  know  a  thing  about  'em  except 
that  they  sound  good."  Cutty  pulled  at  his  chin. 

"Whatever  it  costs  I'll  reimburse  you  the  day 
I'm  up." 

"All  right.  I'll  bring  you  a  bundle  of  them,  and 
you  can  do  your  own  selecting." 

Out  in  the  corridor  the  nurse  said:  "I  couldn't 
hold  him.  But  he'll  be  easier  now  that  he's  got  the 
questions  off  his  mind.  He  will  have  to  be  humoured 
a  lot.  That's  one  of  the  characteristics  of  head 
wounds." 

"What  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"He  seems  to  be  gentle  and  patient;  and  I  imagine 
he's  hard  to  resist  when  he  wants  anything.  Winning, 
you'd  call  it.  I  suppose  I  mustn't  ask  who  he  really 
is?" 

"No.  Poor  devil.  The  fewer  that  know,  the 
better.  I'll  be  home  round  three." 

Once  in  the  street,  Cutty  was  besieged  suddenly 
with  the  irresistible  desire  to  mingle  with  the  crowd 
over  in  the  Avenue,  to  hear  the  military  bands,  the 
shouts,  to  witness  the  gamut  of  emotions  which  he 
knew  would  attend  this  epochal  day.  Of  course  he 
would  view  it  all  from  the  aloof  vantage  of  the 
historian,  and  store  away  commentaries  against 
future  needs. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  193 

And  what  a  crowd  it  was!  He  was  elbowed  and 
pushed,  jostled  and  trod  on,  carried  into  the  surges, 
relegated  to  the  eddies;  and  always  the  metallic  tap- 
tap  of  steel-shod  boots  on  the  asphalt,  the  bayonets 
throwing  back  the  radiant  sunshine  in  sharp,  clear 
flashes.  The  keen,  joyous  faces  of  those  boys.  God, 
to  be  young  like  that!  To  have  come  through  that 
hell  on  earth  with  the  ability  still  to  smile!  Cutty 
felt  the  tears  running  down  his  cheeks.  Instinctively 
he  knew  that  this  was  to  be  his  last  thrill  of  this  order. 
He  was  fifty-two. 

"Quit  your  crowding  there!"  barked  a  voice  under 
his  chin. 

"Sorry,  but  it's  those  behind  me,"  said  Cutty, 
looking  down  into  a  florid  countenance  with  a  rag- 
gedy gray  moustache  and  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  that 
were  blinking. 

"I'm  so  damned  short  I  can't  see  anything!" 

"Neither  can  I." 

"You  could  if  you  wiped  your  eyes." 

"You're  crying  yourself,"  declared  Cutty. 

"Blinking  jackass!     Got  anybody  out  there?" 

"All  of 'em." 

"I  get  you,  old  son  of  a  gun!  No  flesh  and  blood, 
but  they're  ours  all  the  same.  Couple  of  old  fools; 
huh?" 

"Sure  pop!  What  right  have  two  old  codgers  got 
here,  anyhow?  What  brought  you  out?" 

"What  brought  you?" 


194  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Same  thing.'* 

"Damn  it!    If  I  could  only  see  something!" 

Cutty  put  his  hands  upon  the  shoulders  of  this 
chance  acquaintance  and  propelled  him  toward  the 
curb.  There  were  cries  of  protest,  curses,  catcalls, 
but  Cutty  bored  on  ahead  until  he  got  his  man  where 
he  could  see  the  tin  hats,  the  bayonets,  and  the  col- 
ours; and  thus  they  stood  for  a  full  hour.  Each  time 
the  flag  went  by  the  little  man  yanked  off  his  derby 
and  turned  truculently  to  see  that  Cutty  did  the  same. 

"Say,"  he  said  as  they  finally  dropped  back,  "I'd 
offer  to  buy  a  drink,  only  it  sounds  flat." 

"And  it  would  taste  flat  after  a  mighty  wine  like 
this,"  replied  Cutty.  "Maybe  you've  heard  of  the 
nectar  of  the  gods.  Well,  you've  just  drunk  it,  my 
friend." 

"I  sure  have.  Those  kids  out  there,  smiling  after 
all  that  hell;  and  you  and  me  on  the  sidewalk, 
blubbering  over  'em!  What's  the  answer?  We're 
Americans!" 

"You  said  it.     Good-bye." 

Cutty  pressed  on  to  the  flow  and  went  along  with 
it,  lighter  in  the  heart  than  he  had  been  in  many  a 
day.  These  two  million  who  lined  Fifth  Avenue, 
who  cheered,  laughed,  wept,  went  silent,  cheered 
again,  what  did  their  presence  here  signify?  That 
America's  day  had  come;  that  as  a  people  they  were 
homogeneous  at  last;  that  that  which  laws  had  failed 
to  bring  forth  had  been  accomplished  by  an  ideal. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  195 

Bolshevism,  socialism — call  it  what  you  will — 
would  beat  itself  into  fragments  against  this  Rock  of 
Democracy,  which  went  down  to  the  centre  of  the 
world  and  whose  pinnacle  touched  the  stars.  Rein- 
carnation; the  simple  ideals  of  the  forefathers  re- 
stored. And  with  this  knowledge  tingling  in  his 
thoughts — and  perhaps  there  was  a  bit  of  spring 
in  his  heart — Cutty  continued  on,  without  destina- 
tion, chin  jutting,  eyes  shining.  He  was  an  Ameri- 
can! 

He  might  have  continued  on  indefinitely  had  he 
not  seen  obliquely  a  window  filled  with  musical  in- 
struments. 

Hawksley's  fiddle!  He  had  all  but  forgotten. 
All  right.  If  the  poor  beggar  wanted  to  scrape  a 
fiddle,  scrape  it  he  should.  The  least  he,  Cutty, 
could  do  would  be  to  accede  to  any  and  every  whim 
Hawksley  expressed.  Wasn't  he  planning  to  rob 
the  beggar  of  the  drums,  happen  they  ever  turned 
up?  But  how  the  deuce  to  pick  out  a  fiddle  which 
would  have  a  tune  in  it?  Of  all  the  hypercritical 
duffers  the  fiddler  was  the  worst.  Beside  a  fiddler 
of  the  first  rank  the  rich  old  maid  with  the  poodle 
was  a  hail  fellow  well  met. 

Of  course  Gregor  had  taught  the  chap.  That 
meant  he  would  know  instantly;  just  as  his  host 
would  instantly  observe  the  difference  between  green 
glass  and  green  beryl. 

Cutty   turned   into   the   shop,  infinitely  amused. 


196  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Fiddles!  What  next?  Having  constituted  a  guard- 
ianship over  Kitty,  he  was  now  playing  impressario  to 
Hawksley.  As  if  he  hadn't  enough  parts  to  play! 
Wouldn't  he  be  risking  his  life  to-night  trying  to  find 
where  Stefani  Gregor  was?  Fiddles!  Fiddles  and 
emeralds!  What  a  choice  old  hypocrite  he  was! 

Fate  has  a  way  of  telling  you  all  about  it — after- 
ward; conceivably,  that  humanity  might  continue 
to  reproduce  its  species.  Otherwise  humanity  would 
proceed  to  extinguish  itself  forthwith.  Thus,  Cutty 
Was  totally  unaware  upon  entering  the  shop  that  he 
was  about  to  tear  off  its  hinges  the  door  he  was 
so  carefully  bolting  and  latching  and  padlocking 
between  Kitty  Conover  and  this  duffer  who  wanted 
to  fiddle  his  way  through  convalescence. 

Where  there  is  fiddling  there  is  generally  dancing. 
If  it  be  not  the  feet,  then  it  will  be  the  soul. 


CHAPTER  XVin 


JP""  ~"^HERE  are  some  men  who  know  a  little  about 
all  things  and  a  great  deal  about  many.  Such 

L  a  man  was  Cutty.  But  as  he  approached  the 
counter  behind  which  stood  an  expectant  clerk  he 
felt  for  once  that  he  was  in  a  far  country.  There 
were  fiddles  and  fiddles,  just  as  there  were  emeralds 
and  emeralds.  Never  again  would  he  laugh  over 
the  story  of  the  man  who  thought  Botticelli  was 
a  manufacturer  of  spool  thread.  He  attacked  the 
problem,  however,  like  the  thoroughbred  he  was— 
frankly. 

"I  want  to  buy  a  violin,"  he  began,  knowing  that 
in  polite  musical  circles  the  word  fiddle  was  taboo. 
"I  know  absolutely  nothing  at  all  about  quality  or 
price.  Understand,  though,  while  you  might  be  able 
to  fool  me,  you  wouldn't  fool  the  man  I'm  buying  it 
for.  Now  what  would  you  suggest?" 

The  clerk — a  salesman  familiar  with  certain  urban 
types,  thinly  including  the  Fifth  Avenue,  which 
came  in  for  talking-machine  records — recognized  in 
this  well-dressed,  attractive  elderly  man  that  which 
he  designated  the  swell.  Hateful  word,  yes,  but 
having  a  perfectly  legitimate  niche,  since  in  the  minds 
of  the  hvi  polloi  it  nicely  describes  the  differences 

197 


198  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

between  the  poor  gentleman  and  the  gentleman  of 
leisure.  To  proceed  with  the  digression,  to  no  one 
is  the  word  more  hateful  than  to  the  individual  to 
whom  it  is  applied.  Cutty  would  have  blushed  at 
the  clerk's  thought. 

"Perhaps  I'd  better  get  the  proprietor,"  was  the 
clerk's  suggestion. 

"Good  idea,"  Cutty  agreed.  "Take  my  card 
along  with  you."  This  was  a  Fifth  Avenue  shop, 
and  Cutty  knew  there  would  be  a  Who's  Who  or  a 
Bradstreet  somewhere  about. 

In  the  interim  he  inspected  the  case-lined  walls. 
Trombones.  He  chuckled.  Lucky  that  Hawksley's 
talent  didn't  extend  in  this  direction.  True,  he 
himself  collected  drums,  but  he  did  not  play  them. 
Something  odd  about  music;  human  beings  had  to 
have  it,  the  very  lowest  in  the  scale.  A  universal 
magic.  He  was  himself  very  fond  of  good  music; 
but  these  days  he  fought  shy  of  it;  it  had  the  faculty 
of  sweeping  him  back  into  the  twenties  and  reincar- 
nating vanished  dreams. 

After  a  certain  length  of  time,  from  the  corner  of 
his  eye  he  saw  the  clerk  returning  with  the  proprietor, 
the  latter  wearing  an  amiable  smile,  which  probably 
connoted  a  delving  into  the  aforesaid  volumes  of  at- 
tainment and  worth.  Cutty  hoped  this  was  so,  as 
it  would  obviate  the  necessity  of  going  into  details 
as  to  who  he  was  and  what  he  had. 

"Your  name  is  familiar  to  me,"  began  the  pro- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  199 

prietor.  "You  collect  antique  drums.  My  clerk 
tells  me  that  you  wish  to  purchase  a  good  violin." 

"Very  good.  I  have  in  my  apartment  rather  a 
distinguished  guest  who  plays  the  violin  for  his  own 
amusement.  He  is  ill  and  cannot  select  for  himself. 
Now  I  know  a  little  about  music  but  nothing  about 
violins." 

"I  suggest  that  I  personally  carry  half  a  dozen 
instruments  to  your  apartment  and  let  your  guest 
try  them.  How  much  is  he  willing  to  pay?" 

"Top  price,  I  should  say.  Shall  I  make  a  de- 
posit?" 

"If  you  don't  mind.  Merely  precautionary. 
Half  a  dozen  violins  will  represent  quite  a  sum  of 
money;  and  taxicabs  are  unreliable  animals.  A 
thousand  against  accidents.  What  time  shall  I 
call?"  The  proprietor's  curiosity  was  stirred.  Mu- 
sical celebrities,  as  he  had  occasion  to  know,  were 
always  popping  up  in  queer  places.  Some  new  star 
probably,  whose  violin  had  been  broken  and  who 
did  not  care  to  appear  in  public  before  the  hour  of 
his  debut. 

"Three  o'clock,"  said  Cutty. 

"Very  well,  sir.  I  promise  to  bring  the  violins 
myself." 

Cutty  wrote  out  his  check  for  a  thousand  and  de- 
parted, the  chuckle  still  going  on  inside  of  him.  Ver- 
satile old  codger,  wasn't  he? 

Promptly  at  three  the  dealer  arrived,  his  arms  and 


200  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

his  hands  gripping  violin  cases.  Cutty  hurried  to 
his  assistance,  accepted  a  part  of  the  load,  and  beck- 
oned to  the  man  to  follow  him.  The  cases  were 
placed  on  the  floor,  and  the  dealer  opened  them, 
putting  the  rosin  on  a  single  bow. 

Hawksley,  a  fresh  bandage  on  his  head,  his  should- 
ers propped  by  pillows,  eyed  the  initial  manoeuvres 
with  frank  amusement. 

"I  say,  you  know,  would  you  mind  tuning  them 
for  me?  I'm  not  top  hole." 

The  dealer's  eyebrows  went  up.  An  Englishman? 
Bewildered,  he  bent  to  the  trifling  labour  of  tuning 
the  violins.  Hawksley  rejected  the  first  two  instru- 
ments after  thrumming  the  strings  with  his  thumb. 
He  struck  up  a  melody  on  the  third  but  did  not 
finish  it. 

"My  word!  If  you  have  a  violin  there  why  not 
let  me  have  it  at  once?" 

The  dealer  flushed.  "Try  this,  sir.  But  I  do  not 
promise  you  that  I  shall  sell  it." 

"Ah!"  Hawksley  stretched  out  his  hands  to 
receive  the  instrument. 

Of  course  Cutty  had  heard  of  Amati  and  Stradi- 
vari, master  and  pupil.  He  knew  that  all  famous 
violinists  possessed  instruments  of  these  schools, 
and  that  such  violins  were  practically  beyond  the 
reach  of  many.  Only  through  some  great  artist's 
death  or  misfortune  did  a  fine  violin  return  to  the 
marts.  But  the  rejected  fiddles  had  sounded  musi- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  201 

cally  enough  for  him  and  looked  as  if  they  were  well 
up  in  the  society  of  select  fiddles.  The  fiddle  Hawks- 
ley  now  held  in  his  hands  was  dull,  almost  black. 
The  maple  neck  was  worn  to  a  shabby  gray  and  the 
varnish  had  been  sweated  off  the  chin  rest. 

Hawksley  laid  his  fingers  on  the  strings  and  drew 
the  bow  with  a  powerful  flourishing  sweep.  The 
rich,  sonorous  tones  vibrated  after  the  bow  had 
passed.  Then  followed  the  tricks  by  which  an  artist 
seeks  to  discover  flaws  or  wolf  notes.  A  beatific 
expression  settled  upon  Hawksley  face.  He  nestled 
the  violin  comfortably  under  his  chin  and  began  to 
play  softly.  Cutty,  the  nurse,  and  the  dealer  became 
images. 

Minors;  a  bit  of  a  dance;  more  minors;  nothing 
really  begun,  nothing  really  finished — sketches,  with 
a  melancholy  note  running  through  them  all.  While 
that  pouring  into  his  ears  enchained  his  body  it 
stirred  recollections  in  Cutty's  mind:  The  fair  at 
Novgorod;  the  fiddling  mountebanks;  Russian. 

Perhaps  the  dealer's  astonishment  was  greatest. 
An  Englishman!  Who  ever  heard  of  an  Englishman 
playing  a  violin  like  that? 

"I  will  buy  it,"  said  Hawksley,  sinking  back. 

"Sir,"  began  the  dealer,  "I  am  horribly  embar- 
rassed. I  cannot  sell  that  violin  because  it  isn't 
mine.  It  is  an  Amati  worth  ten  thousand  dollars." 

"I  will  give  you  twelve." 

"But,  sir " 


202  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Name  a  price,"  interrupted  Hawksley,  rather 
imperiously.  "I  want  it." 

Cutty  understood  that  he  was  witnessing  a  flash 
of  the  ancient  blood.  To  want  anything  was  to 
have  it. 

"I  repeat,  sir,  I  cannot  sell  it.  It  belongs  to  a 
Hungarian  who  is  now  in  Hungary.  I  loaned  him 
fifteen  hundred  and  took  the  Amati  as  security. 
Until  I  learn  if  he  is  dead  I  cannot  dispose  of  the 
violin.  I  am  sorry.  But  because  you  are  a  real  art- 
ist, sir,  I  will  loan  it  to  you  if  you  will  make  a  deposit 
of  ten  thousand  against  any  possible  accident,  and 
that  upon  demand  you  will  return  the  instrument  to 
me." 

"That's  fair  enough,"  interposed  Cutty. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  Hawksley.  "I  agree.  I 
want  it,  but  not  at  the  price  of  any  one's  dishonesty." 
He  turned  his  head  toward  Cutty,  "You're  a  thor- 
oughbred, sir.  This  will  do  more  to  bring  me  round 
than  all  the  doctors  in  the  world." 

"But  what  the  deuce  is  the  difference?"  Cutty 
demanded  with  a  gesture  toward  the  rejected  violins. 

The  dealer  and  Hawksley  exchanged  smiles.  Said 
the  latter:  "The  other  violins  are  pretty  wooden 
boxes  with  tolerable  tunes  in  their  insides.  This  has 
a  soul."  He  put  the  violin  against  his  cheek  again. 

Massenet's  "Elegie,"  Moszkowski's  "Serenata,"  a 
transcription,  and  then  the  aria  from  Lucia.  Not  com- 
positions professional  violinists  would  have  selected. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  203 

Cutty  felt  his  spine  grow  cold  as  this  aria  poured  gold- 
enly  to  ward  heaven.  He  understood.  Hawksleywas 
telling  him  that  the  shade  of  his  glorious  mother  was 
in  this  "room.  The  boy  was  right.  Some  fiddles  had 
souls.  An  odd  depression  bore  down  upon  him.  Per- 
haps this  surprising  music,  topping  his  great  emotions 
of  the  morning,  was  a  straw  too  much.  There  were 
certain  exaltations  that  could  not  be  sustained. 

A  whimsical  forecast:  This  chap  here,  in  the  dingy 
parlour  of  his  Montana  ranch,  playing  these  inde- 
scribable melodies  to  the  stars,  his  cowmen  outside 
wondering  what  was  the  matter  with  their  "inards.'* 
Somehow  this  picture  lightened  the  depression.  J 

"My  fingers  are  stiff,"  said  Hawksley.  "My 
hand  is  tired.  I  should  like  to  be  alone."  He  lay 
back  rather  inertly. 

In  the  corridor  Cutty  whispered  to  the  dealer: 
"What  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"As  he  says,  his  touch  shows  a  little  stiffness,  but 
the  wonderful  fire  is  there.  He's  an  amateur,  but 
a  fine  one.  Practice  will  bring  him  to  a  finish  in  no 
time.  But  I  never  heard  an  Englishman  play  a  violin 
like  that  before." 

"Nor  I,"  Cutty  agreed.  "When  the  owner  sends 
for  that  fiddle  let  me  know.  Mr.  Hawksley  might 
like  to  dicker  for  it.  If  you  know  where  the  owner 
is  you  might  cable  that  you  have  an  offer  of  twelve 
thousand." 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  haven't  the  least  idea  where  the 


£04  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

owner  is.  However,  there  is  an  understanding  that 
if  the  loan  isn't  covered  in  eighteen  months  the 
instrument  becomes  salable  for  my  own  protection. 
There  is  a  year  still  to  run." 

Four  o'clock  found  Cutty  pacing  his  study,  the 
room  blue  with  smoke.  Of  all  the  queer  chaps  he 
had  met  in  his  varied  career  this  Two-Hawks  topped 
the  lot.  The  constant  internal  turmoil  that  must  be 
going  on,  the  instincts  of  the  blood — artist  and  auto>- 
-crat!  And  in  the  end,  the  owner  of  a  cattle  ranch, 
if  he  had  the  luck  to  get  there  alive!  Dizzy  old 
world.  ., ., 

Something  else  happened  at  four  o'clock.  A  po- 
liceman strolled  into  Eightieth  Street.  He  was  at 
peace  with  the  world.  Spring  was  in  his  whistle, 
in  his  stride,  in  the  twirl  of  his  baton.  Whenever 
he  passed  a  shop  window  he  made  it  serve  as  a  mirror. 
No  waistline  yet — a  comforting  thought. 

Children  swarmed  the  street  and  gathered  at  cor- 
ners. The  older  ones  played  boldly  in  midstreet, 
while  the  toddlers  invented  games  that  kept  them 
to  the  sidewalk  and  curb.  The  policeman  came 
stealthily  upon  one  of  these  latter  groups — Italians. 
At  the  sight  of  his  brass  buttons  they  fled  precipi- 
tately. He  laughed.  Once  in  a  month  of  moons 
he  was  able  to  get  near  enough  to  touch  them.  Nat- 
ural. Hadn't  he  himself  hiked  in  the  old  days  at  the 
sight  of  a  copper?  Sure,  he  had. 

A  bit  of  colour  on  the  sidewalk  attracted  his  eye, 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  205 

and  he  picked  up  the  object.  Something  those  kids 
had  been  playing  with.  A  bit  of  red  glass  out  of  a 
piece  of  cheap  jewellery.  Not  half  bad  for  a  fake. 
He  would  put  one  over  on  Maggie  when  he  turned 
in  for  supper.  Certainly  this  was  the  age  of  imita- 
tion. You  couldn't  buy  a  brass  button  with  any 
confidence.  He  put  the  trinket  in  his  pocket  and 
continued  on,  soon  to  forget  it. 

At  six  he  was  off  duty.  As  he  was  leaving  the  pre- 
cinct the  desk  sergeant  called  him  back. 

"Got  change  for  a  dollar,  an'  I'll  settle  that  pi- 
nochle debt,"  offered  the  sergeant. 

"I'll  take  a  look."  The  policeman  emptied  his 
coin  pocket. 

"What's  that  yuh  got  there?" 

"Which?" 

"The  red  stone?" 

"Oh,  that?  Picked  it  up  on  the  sidwalk.  Some 
I-talian  kids  dropped  it  as  they  skedaddled." 

"Let's  have  a  look." 

"  Sure."     The  policeman  passed  over  the  stone. 

"Gee!  That  looks  like  real  money.  Say,  they 
can  do  anything  with  glass  these  days." 

"They  sure  can." 

A  man  in  civilian  clothes — a  detective  from  head- 
quarters— went  up  to  the  desk.  "What  you  guys 
got  there?" 

"A  ruby  this  boob  picks  up  off'n  the  sidewalk," 
said  the  sergeant,  winking  at  the  finder,  who  grinned. 


206  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Let's  have  a  squint  at  it." 

The  stone  was  handed  to  him.  The  detective 
stared  at  it  carefully,  holding  it  on  his  palm  and 
rocking  it  gently  under  the  desk  light.  Crimson 
darts  of  flame  answered  to  this  treatment.  He 
pushed  back  his  hat. 

"Well,  you  boobs!"  he  drawled. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Matter?  Why,  this  is  a  ruby!  A  whale  of  a 
ruby,  an'  pigeon  blood  at  that!  I  didn't  work  in 
th*  appraiser's  office  for  nothing.  But  for  a  broken 
point — kids  probably  tried  to  crack  it — it  would 
stack  up  somewhere  between  three  and  four  thou- 
sand dollars ! " 

The  sergeant  and  the  policemen  barked  simul- 
taneously: "What?" 

"A  pigeon  blood.     Where  was  it  you  found  it?" 

"  Holy  Moses !    On  Eightieth." 

"Any  chance  of  finding  that  bunch  of  kids? " 

"Not  a  chance,  not  a  chance!  If  I  got  the  hull 
district  here  there  wouldn't  be  nothin'  doin'.  The 
kids'd  be  too  scared  t*  remember  anything.  A 
pigeon-blood  ruby,  an'  I  wasn't  gonna  pick  it  up 
at  first!" 

"Lock  it  up,  sergeant,"  ordered  the  detective. 
"I'll  pass  the  word  to  headquarters.  Too  big  for  a 
ring.  Probably  fallen  from  a  pin.  But  there'll 
be  a  holler  in  a  few  hours.  Lost  or  stolen,  there'll 
be  some  big  noise.  You  two  boobs!" 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  207 

"Well,  whadda  yuh  know  about  that?"  whined 
the  policeman.  "An*  me  thinkin'  it  was  glass!" 

But  there  was  no  big  noise.  No  one  had  re- 
ported the  loss  or  theft  of  a  pigeon-blood  ruby  of 
unusual  size  and  quality. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

KITTY  came  home  at  nine  that  night,  dread- 
fully tired.     She  had  that  day  been  rocked 
by  so  many  emotions.     She  had  viewed  the 
parade  from  the  windows  of  a  theatrical  agency,  and 
she  had  cheered  and  cried  like  everybody  else.     Her 
eyes  still  smarted,  and  her  throat  betrayed  her  every 
time  she  recalled  what  she  had  seen.     Those  boys! 
Loneliness.     She  had  dined  downtown,  and  on  the 
way  home  the  shadow  had  stalked  beside  her.    Lone- 
liness.    Never  before  had  these  rooms  seemed  so 
empty,  empty.     If  God  had  only  given  her  a  brother 
and  he  had  marched  in  that  glorious  parade,  what 
fun  they  two  would  be  having  at  this  moment! 
Empty  rooms;  not  even  a  pet. 

Loneliness.  She  had  been  a  silly  little  fool  to 
stand  so  aloof,  just  because  she  was  poor  and  lived 
in  a  faded  locality.  She  mocked  herself.  Poor  but 
proud,  like  the  shopgirl  in  the  movies.  Denied 
herself  companionship  because  she  was  ashamed  of 
her  genteel  poverty.  And  now  she  was  paying  for 
it.  Silly  little  fool!  It  wasn't  as  if  she  did  not 
know  how  to  make  and  keep  friends.  She  knew  she 
had  attractions.  Just  a  senseless  false  pride.  The 
best  friends  in  the  world,  after  a  series  of  rebuffs, 

208 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

would  drop  away.  Her  mother's  friends  never  called 
any  more,  because  of  her  aloofness.  She  had  only  a 
few  girl  friends,  and  even  these  no  doubt  were  begin- 
ning to  think  her  uppish. 

She  did  not  take  off  her  hat  and  coat.  She 
wandered  through  the  empty  rooms,  undecided. 
If  she  went  to  a  movie  the  rooms  would  be  just  as 
lonely  when  she  returned.  Companionship.  The 
urge  of  it  was  so  strong  that  there  was  a  temptation 
to  call  up  someone,  even  someone  she  had  rebuffed. 
She  was  in  the  mood  to  confess  everything  and  to 
make  an  honest  attempt  to  start  all  over  again — to 
accept  friendship  and  let  pride  go  hang.  Impul- 
sively she  started  for  the  telephone,  when  the  door- 
bell rang. 

Immediately  the  sense  of  loneliness  fell  away.  An- 
other chapter  in  the  great  game  of  hide  and  seek 
that  had  kept  her  from  brooding  until  to-night? 
The  doorbell  carried  a  new  message  these  days. 
Nine  o'clock.  Who  could  be  calling  at  that  hour? 
She  had  forgotten  to  advise  Cutty  of  the  fact  that 
someone  had  gone  through  the  apartment.  She 
could  not  positively  assert  the  fact.  Those  articles 
in  her  bureau  she  herself  might  have  disturbed.  She 
might  have  taken  a  handkerchief  in  a  hurry,  hunted 
for  something  under  the  lingerie  impatiently.  Still 
she  could  not  rid  herself  of  the  f  eeling  that  alien  hands 
had  been  rifling  her  belongings.  Not  Bernini,  de- 
cidedly. 


210  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Remembering  Cutty's  advice  about  opening  the 
door  with  her  foot  against  it,  she  peered  out.  No  em- 
issary of  Bolshevism  here.  A  weary  little  messenger 
boy  with  a  long  box  in  his  arms  called  her  name. 

"Miz  Conover?" 

"Yes." 

The  boy  thrust  the  box  into  her  hands  and  clumped 
to  the  stairhead.  Kitty  slammed  the  door  and  ran 
into  the  living  room,  tearing  open  the  box  as  she  ran. 
Roses  from  Cutty;  she  knew  it.  The  old  darling! 
Just  when  she  was  on  the  verge  of  breaking  down 
and  crying!  She  let  the  box  fall  to  the  floor  and 
cuddled  the  flowers  to  her  heart,  her  eyes  filling. 
Cutty. 

One  of  those  ideas  which  sometime  or  another 
spring  into  the  minds  of  all  pretty  women  who  are 
poor  sprang  into  hers — an  idea  such  as  an  honest 
woman  might  muse  over,  only  to  reject.  Sinister 
and  cynical.  Kitty  was  at  this  moment  in  rather  a 
desperate  frame  of  mind.  Those  two  inherent  char- 
acteristics, which  she  had  fought  valiantly — love 
of  good  times  and  of  pretty  clothes — made  ingress 
easy  for  this  sinister  and  cynical  idea.  Having 
gained  a  foothold  it  pressed  forward  boldly.  Cutty, 
who  had  everything — strength,  comeliness,  wisdom, 
and  money.  To  live  among  all  those  beautiful 
things,  never  to  be  lonely  again,  to  be  waited  on, 
fussed  over,  made  much  of,  taken  into  the  high  world. 
Never  more  to  add  up  accounts,  to  stretch  five-dolla* 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

bills  across  the  chasm  of  seven  days.  An  old  man's 
darling! 

"No,  no,  no!"  she  burst  out,  passionately.  She 
drew  a- hand  across  her  eyes.  As  if  that  gesture 
could  rub  out  an  evil  thought!  It  is  all  very  well  to 
say  "Avaunt!"  But  if  the  idea  will  not?  "I 
couldn't,  I  couldn't!  I'd  be  a  liar  and  a  cheat.  But 
he  is  so  nice!  If  he  did  want  me!  .  .  .  No,  no! 
Just  for  comforts!  I  couldn't!  What  a  miserable 
wretch  I  am!" 

She  caught  up  the  copper  jug  and  still  holding 
the  roses  to  her  heart,  the  tears  streaming  down  her 
cheeks,  rushed  out  to  the  kitchen  for  water.  She 
dropped  the  green  stems  into  the  jug,  buried  her 
face  in  the  buds  to  cool  the  hot  shame  on  her  cheeks, 
and  remembered — what  a  ridiculous  thing  the  mind 
was! — that  she  had  three  shirt  waists  to  iron.  She 
set  the  jug  on  the  kitchen  table,  where  it  remained 
for  many  hours,  and  walked  over  to  the  range,  to  the 
flatiron  shelf.  As  she  reached  for  a  flatiron  her 
hand  stopped  in  midair. 

A  fat  black  wallet!  Instantly  she  knew  who  had 
placed  it  there.  That  poor  Johnny  Two-Hawks! 

Kitty  lifted  out  the  wallet  from  behind  the  flat- 
irons.  No  doubt  of  it,  Johnny  Two-Hawks  had 
placed  it  there  when  she  had  gone  to  the  speaking 
tube  to  summon  the  janitor.  Not  knowing  if  he 
would  ever  call  for  it!  Preferring  that  she  rather 
than  his  enemies  should  have  it.  And  without  a 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

word!  What  a  simple  yet  amazing  hiding  place; 
and  but  for  the  need  of  a  flatiron  the  wallet  would 
have  stayed  there  until  she  moved.  Left  it  there, 
with  the  premonition  that  he  was  heading  into 
trouble.  But  what  if  they  had  killed  him?  How 
would  she  have  explained  the  wallet's  presence  in 
her  apartment?  Good  gracious,  what  an  escape! 

Without  direct  consciousness  she  raised  the  flap. 
She  saw  the  edges  of  money  and  documents;  but 
she  did  not  touch  anything.  There  was  no  need. 
She  knew  it  belonged  to  Johnny  Two-Hawks.  Of 
course  there  was  an  appalling  attraction.  The  wal- 
let was,  figuratively,  begging  to  be  investigated. 
But  resolutely  she  closed  the  flap.  Why?  Because 
it  was  as  though  Two-Hawks  had  placed  the  wallet 
in  her  hands,  charging  her  to  guard  it  against  the 
day  he  reclaimed  it.  There  was  no  outward  proof 
that  the  wallet  was  his.  She  just  knew,  that  was 
all. 

Still,  she  examined  the  outside  carefully.  In  one 
corner  had  been  originally  a  monogram  or  a  crest; 
effectually  obliterated  by  the  application  of  fire. 

Who  he  was  and  what  he  was,  by  a  simple  turn 
of  the  wrist.  It  was  Cutty's  affair  now,  not  hers. 
He  had  a  legal  right  to  examine  the  contents.  He 
was  an  agent  of  the  Federal  Government.  The 
drums  of  jeopardy  and  Stefani  Gregor  and  Johnny 
Two-Hawks,  all  interwoven.  She  had  waited  in 
vain  for  Cutty  to  mention  the  emeralds.  What  sig- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

nified  his  silence?  She  had  indirectly  apprised  him  of 
the  fact  that  she  knew  the  author  of  that  advertise- 
ment offering  to  purchase  the  drums,  no  questions 
asked.  Who  but  Cutty  in  New  York  would  know 
about  them?  The  mark  of  the  thong.  Johnny 
Two-Hawks  had  been  carrying  the  drums,  and  E.ar- 
lov's  men  had  torn  them  from  their  victim's  neck 
during  the  battle.  Was  there  any  reason  why  Cutty 
should  not  have  taken  her  completely  into  his  con- 
fidence? Palaces  looted.  If  Stefani  Gregor  had 
lived  in  a  palace,  why  not  his  protege?  Still,  it  was 
possible  Cutty  was  holding  back  until  he  could  tell 
her  everything. 

But  what  to  do  with  it?  If  she  called  him  up  and 
made  known  her  discovery,  Cutty  would  rush  up  as 
fast  as  a  taxicab  could  bring  him.  He  had  peremp- 
torily ordered  her  not  to  come  to  his  apartment  for 
the  present.  But  to  sit  here  and  wait,  to  be  alone 
again  after  he  had  gone!  It  was  not  to  be  borne. 
Orders  or  no  orders,  she  would  carry  the  wallet  to 
him.  He  could  lecture  her  as  much  as  he  pleased. 
To-night,  at  least,  she  would  lay  aside  her  part  as 
parlour  maid  in  the  drama.  It  would  give  her 
something  to  do,  keep  her  mind  off  herself.  Noth- 
ing but  excitement  would  pull  her  out  of  this  semi- 
hysterical  doldrum. 

She  hid  the  wallet  in  the  pocket  of  her  underskirt. 
Already  her  blood  was  beginning  to  dance.  She 
ran  into  her  bedroom  for  two  veils,  a  gray  automobile 


214  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

puggree  and  one  of  those  heavy  black  affairs  with 
butterflies  scattered  over  it,  quite  as  effectual  as  a 
mask.  She  wound  the  puggree  about  her  hat. 
When  the  right  moment  came  she  would  discard  the 
puggree  and  drop  the  black  veil.  Her  coat  was  of 
dark  blue,  lined  with  steel-gray  taffeta.  Turned 
inside  out  it  would  fool  any  man.  She  wore  spats. 
These  she  would  leave  behind  when  she  made  the 
change. 

Someone  might  follow  her  as  far  as  the  Knicker- 
bocker, but  beyond  there,  never.  She  was  sorry, 
but  she  dared  not  warn  Bernini.  He  might  object, 
notify  Cutty,  and  spoil  everything. 

By  the  time  she  reached  the  street  exhilaration 
suffused  her.  The  melancholia  was  gone.  The 
sinister  and  cynical  idea  had  vanished  apparently. 
Apparently.  Merely  it  had  found  a  hiding  place 
and  was  content  to  abide  there  for  the  present. 
Such  ideas  are  not  without  avenues  of  retreat;  they 
know  the  hours  of  attack.  Kitty  was  alive  to  but 
one  fact:  The  game  of  hide  and  seek  was  on  again. 
She  was  going  to  have  some  excitement.  She  was 
going  into  the  night  on  an  adventure,  as  children 
play  at  bears  in  the  dark.  The  youth  in  her  still 
rejected  the  fact  that  the  woof  and  warp  of  this  ad- 
venture were  murder  and  loot  and  pain. 

En  route  to  the  Subway  she  never  looked  back. 
At  Forty-second  Street  she  detrained,  walked  into 
the  Knickerbocker,  entered  the  ladies  dressing  room, 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  215 

turned  her  coat,  redraped  her  hat,  checked  her 
gaiters,  and  sought  a  taxi.  Within  two  blocks  of 
Cutty's  she  dismissed  the  cab  and  finished  the  jour- 
ney on  foot. 

At  the  left  of  the  lobby  was  an  all-night  apothe- 
cary's, with  a  door  going  into  the  lobby.  Kitty 
proceeded  to  the  elevator  through  this  avenue. 
Number  Four  was  down,  and  she  stepped  inside, 
raising  her  veil. 

"You,  miss?" 

"Very  important.     Take  me  up." 

"The  boss  is  out." 

"No  matter.     Take  me  up." 

"  You're  the  doctor ! "  What  a  pretty  girl  she  was  \ 
No  come-on  in  her  eyes,  though.  "The  boss  may 
not  get  back  until  morning.  He  just  went  out  in  his 
engineer's  togs.  He  sure  wasn't  expecting  you." 

"Do  you  know  where  he  went?" 

"Never  know.  But  I'll  be  in  this  bird  cage  until 
he  comes  back." 

"I  shall  have  to  wait  for  him." 

"Up  she  goes!" 

As  Kitty  stepped  out  into  the  corridor  a  wave  of 
confusion  assailed  her.  She  hadn't  planned  against 
Cutty's  absence.  There  was  nothing  she  could  say 
to  the  nurse;  and  if  Johnny  Two-Hawks  was  asleep 
—why,  all  she  could  do  would  be  to  curl  up  on  a 
divan  and  await  Cutty's  return. 

The  nurse  appeared.     "  You,  Miss  Conover?  " 


216  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Yes."  Kitty  realized  at  once  that  she  must 
take  the  nurse  into  her  confidence.  "I  have  made 
a  really  important  discovery.  Did  Cutty  say  when 
he  would  return?" 

"No.  I  am  not  in  his  confidence  to  that  extent. 
But  I  do  know  that  you  assumed  unnecessary  risks 
in  coming  here." 

Kitty  shrugged  and  produced  the  waDet.  "Is 
Mr.  Hawksley  awake?" 

"He  is." 

"It  appears  that  he  left  this  wallet  in  my  kitchen 
that  night.  It  might  buck  him  up  if  I  gave  it  to 
him." 

The  nurse,  eyeing  the  lovely  animated  face,  con- 
ceded that  it  might.  "Come,  I've  been  trying  fu- 
tilely  to  read  him  asleep,  but  he  is  restless.  No  ex- 
citement, please." 

"I'll  try  not  to.  Perhaps,  after  all,  you  had  better 
give  him  the  wallet." 

"On  the  contrary,  that  would  start  a  series  of 
questions  I  could  not  answer.  Come  along." 

When  Kitty  saw  Hawksley  she  gave  a  little  gasp  of 
astonishment.  Why,  he  was  positively  handsome! 
His  dark  head,  standing  out  boldly  against  the  bol- 
stering pillows,  the  fine  lines  of  his  face  definite,  the 
pallor — he  was  like  a  Roman  cameo.  Who  and 
what  could  he  be,  this  picturesque  foundling? 

His  glance  flashed  into  hers  delightedly.  For 
hours  and  hours  the  constant  wonder  where  she  was, 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  217 

why  no  one  mentioned  her,  why  they  evaded  his 
apparently  casual  questions.  To  burst  upon  his 
vision  in  the  nadir  of  his  boredom  and  loneliness  like 
this!  She  was  glorious,  this  American  girl.  She 
made  him  think  of  a  golden  scabbard  housing  a  fine 
Toledo  blade.  Hadn't  she  saved  his  life?  More, 
hadn't  she  assumed  a  responsibility  in  so  doing? 
Instantly  he  purposed  that  she  should  not  be  per- 
mitted to  resign  the  office  of  good  Samaritan.  He 
motioned  toward  the  nurse's  chair;  and  Kitty  sat 
down,  her  errand  in  total  eclipse. 

"Just  when  I  never  felt  so  lonely !     Ripping ! " 

His  quick  smile  was  so  engaging  that  Kitty  an- 
swered it — kindred  spirits,  subconsciously  recog- 
nizing each  other.  Fire;  but  neither  of  them  knew 
that;  or  that  two  lonely  human  beings  of  opposite 
sex,  in  touch,  constitute  a  first-rate  combustible. 

Quietly  the  nurse  withdrew.  There  would  be  a 
tonic  in  this  meeting  for  the  patient.  Her  own 
presence  might  neutralize  the  effect.  She  had  not 
spent  all  those  dreadful  months  in  base  hospitals 
without  acquiring  a  keen  insight  into  the  needs  of 
sick  men.  No  harm  in  letting  him  have  this  pretty, 
self-reliant  girl  alone  to  himself  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.  She  would  then  return  with  some  broth. 

"How — how  are  you?"  asked  Kitty,  inanely. 

"Top-hole,  considering.  Quite  ready  to  be  killed 
all  over  again." 

"You  mustn't  talk  like  that!"  she  protested. 


218  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Only  to  show  you  I  was  bucking  up.  Thank 
you  for  doing  what  you  did." 

"I  had  to  do  it." 

"Most  women  would  have  run  away  and  left  me 
to  my  fate." 

"Not  my  kind." 

"Rather  not!  Your  kind  would  risk  its  neck  to 
help  a  stray  cat.  I  say,  what's  that  you  have  in 
your  hand?" 

"Good  gracious!"  Kitty  extended  the  wallet. 
"It  is  yours,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes.  I  wanted  you  to  bring  it  to  me  the  way 
you  have.  If  I  hadn't  come  back — out  of  that — • 
it  was  to  be  yours." 

"Mine?  "— dumf  ounded.     "  But " 

"Why  not?  Gregor  gone,  there  wasn't  a  soul  in 
the  world.  I  was  hungry,  and  you  gave  me  food. 
I  wanted  that  to  pay  you.  I'll  wager  you've  never 
looked  into  it." 

"I  had  no  right  to." 

"See!"  He  opened  the  wallet  and  spread  the 
contents  on  the  counterpane.  "I  wasn't  so  stony 
as  you  thought.  What?  Cash  and  unregistered 
bonds.  They  would  have  been  yours  absolutely." 

"But  I  don't — I  can't  quite,"  Kitty  stammered — 
"but  I  couldn't  have  kept  them!" 

"Positively  yes.  You  would  have  shown  them  to 
that  ripping  guardian  of  yours,  and  he  would  have 
made  you  see." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  219 

"Indeed,  yes!  He  would  have  been  scared  to 
death.  You  poor  man,  can't  you  see?  Circumstan- 
tial evidence  that  I  had  killed  you!" 

"Good  Lord!  And  you're  right,  too!  So  it  goes. 
You  can't  do  anything  you  want  to  do.  The  good 
Samaritan  is  never  requited;  and  I  wanted  to  break 
the  rule.  Lord,  what  a  bally  mix-up  I'd  have  tum- 
bled you  in!  I  forgot  that  you  were  you,  that  you 
would  have  gone  straight  to  the  authorities.  Of 
course  I  knew  if  I  pulled  through  and  you  found  the 
wallet  you  would  bring  it  to  me." 

Kitty  no  longer  had  a  foot  on  earth.  She  floated. 
Her  brain  floated,  too,  because  she  could  not  make  it 
think  coherently  for  her.  A  fortune — for  a  dish  of 
bacon  and  eggs !  The  magnificence,  the  utter  prodi- 
gality of  such  generosity!  For  a  dish  of  bacon  and 
eggs  and  a  bottle  of  milk!  Had  she  left  home? 
Hadn't  she  fallen  asleep,  the  victim  of  another 
nightmare?  A  corner  of  the  atmosphere  cleared  a 
little.  A  desire  took  form;  she  wanted  the  nurse  to 
come  back  and  stabilize  things.  In  a  wavering 
blur  she  saw  the  odd  young  man  restore  the  money 
and  bonds  and  other  documents  to  the  wallet. 

"I  want  you  to  give  this  to  your  guardian  when 
he  comes  in.  I  want  him  to  understand.  I  say,  you 
know,  I'm  going  to  love  that  old  thoroughbred !  He's 
fine.  Fancy  his  carrying  me  on  his  shoulders  and 
eventually  bringing  me  up  here  among  the  clouds! 
Americans.  .  .  .  Are  you  all  like  that?  And  you!" 
PROPERTY  OF 

DOBRIN  CIRCULATING  LIBRARIES 


220  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Kitty's  brain  began  to  make  preparations  to 
alight,  as  it  were.  Cutty.  That  gave  her  a  touch 
of  earth.  She  heard  herself  say  faintly:  "And  what 
about  me?" 

"You  were  brave  and  kind.  To  help  an  unknown, 
friendless  beggar  like  that,  when  you  should  have 
turned  him  over  to  the  police!  Makes  me  feel  a 
bit  stuffy.  They  left  me  for  dead.  I  wonder— 

"What?" 

"If — it  wouldn't  have  been  just  as  well!'* 

"You  mustn't  talk  like  that!  You  just  mustn't! 
You're  with  friends,  real  friends,  who  want  to  help 
you  all  they  can."  And  then  with  a  little  flash  of 
forced  humour,  because  of  the  recurrent  tightening 
in  her  throat — "Who  could  be  friendless,  with  all 
that  money?"  Instantly  she  felt  like  biting  her 
tongue.  He  would  know  nothing  of  the  sad 
American  habit  of  trying  to  be  funny  to  keep  a 
wobbly  situation  on  its  legs.  He  would  interpret 
it  as  heartlessness.  "I  didn't  mean  that!"  With 
the  Irish  impulsiveness  which  generally  weighs  acts 
in  retrospection,  she  reached  over  and  gripped  his 
hand. 

"I  say,  you  two!"  Hawksley  closed  his  eyes  for  a 
second.  "Wanting  to  buck  up  a  chap  because  you're 
that  sort!  All  right.  I'll  stick  it  out!  You  two! 
And  I  might  be  the  worst  scoundrel  unhung!" 

He  drew  her  hand  toward  his  lips,  and  Kitty  had 
not  the  power  to  resist  him.  She  felt  strangely 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

theatrical,  a  character  in  a  play;  for  American  men, 
except  in  playful  burlesque,  never  kissed  their  wo- 
men's hands.  The  moment  he  released  the  hand 
the  old  wave  of  hysteria  rolled  over  her.  She  must 
fly.  The  desire  to  weep,  little  fool  that  she  was!  was 
breaking  through  her  defences.  Loneliness.  The 
two  of  them  all  alone  but  for  Cutty.  She  rose,  crush- 
ing the  wallet  in  her  hand. 

Ah,  never  had  she  needed  that  darling  mother  of 
hers  so  much  as  now.  Tears  did  not  seem  to  afford 
relief  when  one  shed  them  into  handkerchiefs  and 
pillows.  But  on  that  gentle  bosom,  to  let  loose  this 
brimming  flood,  to  hear  the  tender  voice  consoling! 

"Oh,  I  say,  now!  Please!"  she  heard  Johnny 
Two-Hawks  cry  out. 

But  she  rushed  on  blindly,  knocking  against  the 
door  jamb  and  almost  upsetting  the  nurse,  who  was 
returning.  Somehow  she  managed  to  reach  the 
living  room,  glad  it  was  dark.  After  sundry  reach- 
ing about  she  found  the  divan  and  flung  herself  upon 
it.  What  would  he  think?  What  would  the  nurse 
think?  That  Kitty  Conover  had  suddenly  gone 
stark,  raving  crazy!  And  now  that  she  was  in 
the  dark,  alone,  the  desire  to  weep  passed  over  and 
she  lay  quietly  with  her  face  buried  in  the  pillow. 
But  not  for  long. 

She  sat  up.  Music — violin  music!  A  gay  waltz 
that  made  her  think  of  flashing  water,  the  laughter 
of  children.  Tschaikowsky.  Thrilled,  she  waited 


The  Drams  of  Jeopardy 

for  the  finale.  Silence.  Scharwenka's  "Polish  Dance," 
with  a  swing  and  a  fire  beyond  anything  she  had 
ever  heard  before.  Another  stretch  of  silence — a 
silence  full  of  interrogation  points.  Then  a  tender 
little  sketch,  quite  unfamiliar.  But  all  at  once  she 
understood.  He  was  imploring  her  to  return. 
She  smiled  in  the  dark;  but  she  knew  she  was  going 
to  remain  right  where  she  was. 

"Miss  Conover?"     It  was  the  voice  of  the  nurse. 

"Yes.     I'm  over  here  on  the  divan." 

"Anything  wrong?" 

"Good  gracious,  no!  I'm  overtired.  A  little 
hysterical,  maybe.  The  parade  to-day,  with  all  those 
wounded  boys  in  automobiles,  the  music  and  colour 
and  excitement — have  rather  done  me  up.  And  the 
way  I  rushed  up  here.  And  not  finding  Cutty— 

"Anything  I  can  get  for  you?" 

"No,  thanks.  I'll  try  to  snatch  a  little  sleep  before 
Cutty  returns." 

"But  he  may  be  gone  all  night!" 

"Will  it  be  so  very  scandalous  if  I  stay  here?" 

"You  poor  child!  Go  ahead  and  sleep.  Don't 
hesitate  to  call  me  if  you  want  anything.  I  have  a 
mild  sedative  if  you  would  like  it." 

"No,  thanks.  I  did  not  know  that  Mr.  Hawksley 
played." 

"  Wonderfully !     But  does  it  bother  you?  " 

"It  kind  of  makes  me  choky." 

"I'll  tell  him." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Kitty,  now  strangely  at  peace,  snuggled  down 
among  the  pillows.  Some  great  Polish  violinist, 
who  had  roused  the  bitter  enmity  of  the  anarchist? 
But  no;  ne  was  Russian.  Cutty  had  admitted  that. 
It  struck  her  that  Cutty  knew  a  great  deal  more  than 
Kitty  Conover;  and  so  far  as  she  could  see  there  was 
no  apparent  reason  for  this  secrecy.  She  rather 
believed  she  had  Cutty.  Either  he  should  tell  her 
everything  or  she  would  run  loose,  Bolshevik  or  no 
Bolshevik. 

Sheep.  She  boosted  one  over  the  bars,  another 
and  another.  Round  somewhere  in  the  thirties  the 
bars  dissolved.  The  next  thing  she  knew  she  was 
blinking  in  the  light,  Cutty,  his  arms  folded,  staring 
down  at  her  sombrely.  There  was  blood  on  his  face 
and  blood  on  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  XX 

KARLOV  moodily  touched  the  shoulder  of  the 
man  on  the  cot.  Stefani  Gregor  puzzled  him. 
He  came  to  this  room  more  often  than  was 
wise,  driven  by  a  curiosity  born  of  a  cynical  philos- 
ophy to  discover  what  it  was  that  reenforced  this 
fragile  body  against  threats  and  thirst  and  hunger. 
He  knew  what  he  wanted  of  Gregor — the  fiddler  on 
his  knees  begging  for  mercy.  And  always  Gregor 
faced  him  with  that  silent  calm  which  reminded  him 
of  the  sea,  aloof,  impervious,  exasperating.  Only 
once  since  the  day  he  had  been  locked  in  this  room 
had  Gregor  offered  speech.  He,  Karlov,  had  roared 
at  him,  threatened,  baited,  but  his  reward  generally 
had  been  a  twisted  wintry  smile. 

He  could  not  offer  physical  torture  beyond  the 
frequent  omissions  of  food  and  water;  the  body  would 
have  crumbled.  To  have  planned  this  for  months, 
and  then  to  be  balked  by  something  as  visible  yet  as 
elusive  as  quicksilver!  Born  in  the  same  mudhole, 
and  still  Boris  Karlov  the  avenger  could  not  under- 
stand Stefani  Gregor  the  fiddler.  Perhaps  what 
baffled  him  was  that  so  valiant  a  spirit  should  be 
housed  in  so  weak  a  body.  It  was  natural  that  he, 
Boris,  with  the  body  of  a  Carpathian  bear,  should 

224 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

have  a  soul  to  match.  But  that  Stefani,  with  his 
paper  body,  should  mock  him!  The  damned  bour- 
geoisie! 

The  quality  of  this  unending  calm  was  under- 
standable: Gregor  was  always  ready  to  die.  What 
to  do  with  a  man  to  whom  death  was  release?  To 
hold  the  knout  and  to  see  it  turn  to  water  in  the  hand! 
In  lying  he  had  overreached.  Gregor,  having  ac- 
cepted as  fact  the  reported  death  of  Ivan,  had  noth- 
ing to  live  for.  Having  brought  Gregor  here  to  tor- 
ture he  had,  blind  fool,  taken  away  the  fiddler's  abil- 
ity to  feel.  The  fog  cleared.  He  himself  had  given 
his  enemy  this  mysterious  calm.  He  had  taken  out 
Gregor's  soul  and  dissipated  it. 

No.  Not  quite  dissipated.  What  held  the  toody 
together  was  the  iron  residue  of  the  soul.  Venom 
and  blood  clogged  Karlov's  throat.  He  could 
kill  only  the  body,  as  he  had  killed  the  fiddle;  he  could 
aot  reach  the  mystery  within.  Ah,  but  he  had  wrung 
Stefani's  heart  there.  There  were  pieces  of  the  fiddle 
on  the  table  where  Gregor  had  placed  them,  doubt- 
less to  weep  over  when  he  was  alone.  Why  hadn't 
he  thought  to  break  the  fiddle  a  little  each  day? 

"Stefani  Gregor,  sit  up.  I  have  come  to  talk." 
This  was  formula.  Karlov  did  not  expect  speech 
from  Gregor. 

Slowly  the  thin  arms  bore  up  the  torso;  slowly  the 
legs  swung  to  the  floor.  But  the  little  gray  man's 
eyes  were  bright  and  quick  to-night. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Boris,  what  is  it  you  want?" 

"To  talk" — surprised  at  this  unexpected  out< 
burst. 

"No,  no.  I  mean,  what  is  it  all  about — these 
killings,  these  burnings?" 

Karlov  was  ready  at  all  times  to  expound  the 
theories  that  appealed  to  his  dark  yet  simple  mind- 
humanity  overturned  as  one  overturned  the  sod  in 
the  springtime  to  give  it  new  lif e. 

"To  give  the  proletariat  what  is  his." 

"Ha!"  said  the  little  man  on  the  cot.  "What  is 
his?" 

"That  which  capitalism  has  taken  away  from 
him." 

"The  proletariat.  The  lowest  in  the  human  scale 
• — and  therefore  the  most  helpless.  They  shall  rule, 
say  you.  My  poor  Russia!  Beaten  and  robbed  for 
centuries,  and  now  betrayed  by  a  handful  of  madmen 
— with  brains  atrophied  on  one  side!  You  are  a  fool, 
Boris.  Your  feet  are  in  strange  quicksands  and  your 
head  among  chimeras.  You  write  some  words  on  a 
piece  of  paper,  and  lo!  you  say  they  are  facts.  With- 
out first  proving  your  theories  correct  you  would 
ram  them  down  the  throat  of  the  world.  The  world 
rejects  you." 

"Wait  and  see,  damned  bourgeoisie!"  thundered 
Karlov,  not  alive  to  the  fact  that  he  was  being 
baited. 

"Bourgeoisie?    Yes,  I  am  of  the  middle  class; 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

the  rogue  on  top  and  the  fool  below.  I  see.  The 
rogue  and  the  fool  cannot  combine  unless  the  bour- 
geoisie is  obliterated.  Go  on.  I  am  interested." 

"Under  the  soviet  the  government  shall  be 
everything." 

"As  it  was  in  Prussia." 

Karlov  ignored  this.  "The  individual  shall  never 
again  become  rich  by  exploiting  the  poor." 

Karlov  strove  to  speak  calmly.  Gregor's  willing- 
ness to  discuss  the  aims  of  the  proletariat  confused 
him.  He  suspected  some  ulterior  purpose  behind  this 
apparent  amiability.  He  must  hold  down  his  fury 
until  this  purpose  was  in  the  open. 

"Well,  that  is  good,"  Gregor  admitted.  "But 
somehow  it  sounds  ancient  on  my  ear.  Was  there 
not  a  revolution  in  France?" 

"Fool,  it  is  the  world  that  is  revolting!"  Karlov 
paused.  "And  no  man  in  the  future  shall  see  his 
sister  or  his  daughter  made  into  a  loose  woman  with- 
out redress." 

"Your  proletariat's  sister  and  daughter.  But 
the  daughter  of  the  noble  and  the  daughter  of  the 
bourgeoisie — fair  game ! " 

Sometimes  there  enters  a  man's  head  what  might 
be  called  a  sick  idea;  when  the  vitality  is  at  low  ebb 
and  the  future  holds  nothing.  Thus  there  was  a  grim 
and  sick  idea  behind  Gregor's  gibes.  It  was  in  his 
mind  to  die.  All  the  things  he  had  loved  had  been 
destroyed.  So  then,  to  goad  this  madman  into 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

a  physical  frenzy.  Once  those  gorilla-like  hands 
reached  out  for  him  Stefani  Gregor's  neck  would 
break. 

"Be  still,  fiddler!  You  know  what  I  mean. 
There  will  be  no  upper  class,  which  is  idleness  and 
wastefulness;  no  middle  class,  the  usurers,  the  gam- 
blers of  necessities,  the  war  makers.  One  great 
body  of  equals  shall  issue  forth.  All  shall  labour." 

"For  what?" 

"The  common  good." 

"Your  Lenine  offered  peace,  bread,  and  work  for 
the  overthrow  of  Kerensky.  What  you  have  given — 
murder  and  famine  and  idleness.  Can  there  be 
common  good  that  is  based  upon  the  blood  of  inno- 
cents? Did  Ivan  ever  harm  a  soul?  Have  I?  " 

"You!"  Karlov  trembled.  "You— with  your 
damned  green  stones!  Did  you  not  lure  Anna  to 
dishonour  with  the  promise  to  show  her  the  drums, 
the  sight  of  which  would  make  all  her  dreams  come 
true?  A  child,  with  a  fairy  story  in  her  head ! " 

"You  speak  of  Anna!  If  you  hadn't  been  spout- 
ing your  twaddle  in  taverns  you  would  have  had 
time  to  instruct  Anna  against  guilelessness  and  super- 
stition." 

"How  much  did  they  pay  you?  Did  you  fiddle 
for  her  to  dance?  .  .  .  But  I  left  their  faces  in 
the  mud!" 

A  madman,  with  two  obsessions.  A  pitiable 
Samson  with  his  arms  round  the  pillars  of  society  to 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  229 

drag  it  down  upon  his  head  because  society  had  de- 
filed his  sister!  Ah,  how  many  thousands  in  Russia 
like  him!  A  great  yearning  filled  Gregorys  heart, 
because  *he  understood;  but  he  suppressed  expression 
of  it  because  the  sick  idea  was  stronger. 

"Yes,  yes!  I  loved  those  green  stones  because 
it  was  born  in  me  to  love  beautiful  things.  Have 
you  forgotten,  Boris,  the  old  days  in  Moscow,  when 
we  were  students  and  I  made  you  weep  with  my 
fiddle?  There  was  hope  for  you  then.  You  had  not 
become  a  pothouse  orator  on  the  rights  of  the  pro- 
letariat— the  red-combed  rooster  on  the  smouldering 
dungheap!  Beauty,  no  matter  in  what  form,  I 
loved  it.  Yes,  I  was  mad  about  those  emeralds. 
I  was  always  stealing  in  to  see  them,  to  hold  them  to 
the  light,  simply  because  they  were  beautiful."  Gre- 
gor's  hands  flew  to  his  throat,  which  he  bared.  "I 
lured  her  there!  'Twas  I,  Boris!  .  .  .  Those 
beautiful  hands  of  yours,  fit  for  the  butcher's  block! 
Kill  me!  Kill  me!" 

But  Karlov  shrank  back,  covering  his  eyes.  "No! 
I  see  now!  You  wish  to  die!  You  shall  live!"  He 
rushed  toward  the  far  wall,  a  huge  grotesque  shadow 
rising  to  meet  him — his  own,  thrown  upon  the  wall 
by  the  wavering  candlelight.  He  turned  shaking, 
for  the  temptation  had  been  great. 

At  once  Gregor  realized  his  failure.  The  tenseness 
went  out  of  him.  He  spoke  calmly.  "  Yes,  I  wanted 
to  die.  I  no  longer  possess  anything.  I  lied,  Boris; 


230  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

but  it  is  useless  to  tell  you  that.  I  knew  nothing  of 
Anna  until  it  was  too  late.  I  wanted  to  die." 

Karlov  began  to  pace  furiously,  the  candle  flame 
springing  after  him  each  time  he  passed  it. 

There  was  a  question  in  Gregor's  mind.  It  rushed 
to  his  lips  a  dozen  times  but  he  dared  not  voice  it. 
Olga.  Since  Karlov  could  not  be  tempted  to  mur- 
der, it  would  be  futile  to  ask  for  an  additional  burden 
of  mental  torture.  Perhaps  it  had  not  happened — 
the  terrible  picture  he  drew  in  his  mind — since  Karlov 
had  not  boasted  of  it. 

"Come,  Boris.  There  is  blood  on  your  hands. 
What  is  one  more  daub  of  it?" 

Karlov  stopped,  scowled,  and  ran  his  fingers 
through  his  hair.  Perhaps  some  ugly  memory  stirred 
the  roots  of  it.  "You  wish  to  die!" 

Gregor  bent  his  head  to  his  hands  and  Karlov 
resumed  his  pacing.  After  a  while  Gregor  looked  up. 

"Private  vengeance.  You  begin  your  rule  with 
private  vengeance." 

"The  vengeance  of  a  people.  All  the  breed.  Did 
France  stop  at  Louis?  Do  we  tear  up  the  roots  of 
the  poisonous  toadstool  that  killed  someone  we 
loved  and  leave  the  other  toadstools  thriving?  " 

"To  cure  the  world  of  all  its  ills  by  tearing  up  the 
toadstools  and  the  flowers  together — do  you  call  that 
justice?  The  proletariat  shall  have  everything,  and 
he  begins  by  killing  off  noble  and  bourgeoisie  and 
dividing  up  the  loot!  Even  with  his  oppression  the 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  231 

noble  had  a  right  to  live.  The  bourgeoisie  must  die 
because  of  his  benefactions  to  a  people.  The  world 
for  the  proletariat,  and  damnation  for  the  rest!" 

"Let-  each  become  one  of  us,"  cried  Karlov, 
hoarsely.  "We  give  them  that  right." 

"You  lie!  You  have  done  nothing  but  assassinate 
them  when  they  surrendered.  But  tell  me,  have  not 
you,  Lenine,  and  Trotzky  overlooked  something?" 

"What?"  Karlov  was  vaguely  grateful  for  this 
diversion.  The  lust  to  kill  was  still  upon  him  and 
he  was  fighting  it.  He  must  remember  that  Gregor 
wished  to  die.  "What  have  we  overlooked?" 

"Human  nature.  Can  you  tear  it  apart  and  re- 
construct it,  as  you  would  a  clock?  What  of  creative 
genius  in  this  proletariat  millennium  of  yours?" 

"  The  state  will  carefully  mother  that." 

Gregor  laughed  sardonically.  "Will  there  be 
creative  genius  under  your  rule?  Will  you  not  suf- 
focate it  by  taking  away  the  air  that  energizes  it — 
ambition?  You  will  have  all  the  present  marvels  of 
invention  to  start  with,  but  will  you  ever  go  beyond? 
Have  you  read  history  and  observed  the  inexorable? 
I  doubt  it.  What  is  progress?  A  series  of  almost 
imperceptible  steps." 

"Which  capitalism  has  always  obstructed,"  flung 
back  Karlov. 

"Which  capitalism  has  always  made  possible. 
Curb  it,  yes;  but  abolish  it,  as  you  have  done  in  un- 
happy Russia!  Why  do  you  starve  there?  Poor 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

fool,  because  you  have  assassinated  those  forces 
which  created  food — that  is  to  say,  put  it  where  you 
could  get  it.  Three  quarters  of  Russia  are  against 
you.  You  read  nothing  in  that?  The  efficient  and 
the  inefficient,  they  shall  lie  down  together  as  the  lion 
and  the  ass,  to  paraphrase.  They  shall  become  equal 
because  you  say  so.  What  is,  fundamentally,  this 
Bolshevism?  The  revolt  of  the  inefficient.  The 
mantle  of  horror  that  was  Germany's  you  have 
torn  from  her  shoulders  and  thrown  upon  yours. 
Fools!" 

The  anarch's  huge  fists  became  knotted;  wrinkles 
corrugated  his  forehead;  but  he  did  not  stir.  Gregor 
wanted  to  die. 

Gregor  pointed  with  trembling  hand  toward  the 
brown  litter  on  the  table.  "To  destroy.  You 
shattered  a  soul  there.  You  tore  mine  apart  when 
you  did  it.  For  what?  To  better  humanity?  No; 
to  rend  something,  to  obliterate  something  that  was 
beautiful.  Demolition.  Go  on.  You  will  tear  and 
rend  until  exhaustion  comes,  then  some  citizen  king, 
some  headstrong  Napoleon,  will  step  in.  The  French 
Revolution  taught  you  nothing.  You  play  'The 
Marseillaise*  in  the  Neva  Prospekt  and  miss  the  signi- 
ficance of  that  song.  Liberty?  You  choose  license. 
Equality?  You  deny  it  in  your  acts.  Fraternity? 
You  slaughter  your  brothers." 

"Be  silent!"  roared  Karlov,  wavering. 

But  Gregor  continued  with  a  new-found  hope. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  233 

He  saw  that  his  jeers  were  wearing  down  the  other's 
control.  Perhaps  the  weak  side  was  the  political. 
Karlov  was  a  fanatic.  There  might  yet  be  death 
in  those  straining  fingers. 

"To  "seize  by  confiscation,  without  justice,  in- 
discriminately all  that  the  group  efficient  laboriously 
constructed.  I  enter  your  house,  kill  your  family 
and  steal  your  silver.  Are  your  acts  fundamentally 
different  from  mine?  Remember,  I  am  speaking 
from  the  point  of  view  as  three  quarters  of  Russia 
see  it,  and  all  the  other  civilized  nations.  There 
may  be  something  magnificent  in  that  soviet  consti- 
tution of  yours;  but  you  have  deluged  it  in  blood  and 
folly.  Ostensibly  you  are  dividing  up  the  great 
estates,  but  actually  you  are  parcelling  them  out  and 
charging  rent.  You  will  not  own  anything.  The 
state  shall  own  all  the  property.  What  will  be  the 
patriotism  of  the  man  who  has  nothing?  Why 
defend  something  that  is  only  his  government's,  not 
his  own?  You  are  legalizing  women  as  cows.  The 
sense  of  motherhood  will  vanish  when  a  woman  may 
not  select  her  mate.  What  is  the  greatest  thing  hi 
the  world?  The  human  need  of  possession.  To 
own  something,  however  little.  The  spur  of  creative 
genius.  Human  beings  will  never  be  equal  except  in 
lawful  privileges.  The  skillful  will  outpace  the  un- 
skillful; the  thrifty  will  take  from  the  improvident; 
genius  will  overtop  mediocrity.  And  you  will  change 
all  this  with  a  scrape  of  your  bloody  pen ! " 


234  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Karlov's  body  began  to  rock  and  sway  like  an 
angry  bear's;  but  still  he  held  his  ground.  Gregor 
wanted  to  die,  to  cheat  him. 

"What  of  power?"  went  on  his  baiter.  "Capital- 
ism of  might.  Lenine  and  Trotzky;  are  they — have 
they  been — honest?  Has  Russia  actually  voted  them 
into  office?  They  sit  in  the  seats  of  the  mighty  by  the 
capitalism  of  force.  .  For  the  capitalism  of  money, 
which  is  progress  physical  and  moral,  you  substitute 
the  capitalism  of  force,  which  is  terror.  You  speak 
of  yourselves  as  internationalists.  Bats,  that  is 
the  judgment  day  of  God — internationalism!  For 
only  on  the  judgment  day  will  nations  become  a 
single  people." 

A  short  silence.  Gregor  was  beginning  to  grow 
weak.  Presently  he  picked  up  the  thread  of  his 
diatribe. 

"I  have  lived  in  England,  France,  Italy,  and  here. 
I  am  competent  to  draw  comparisons.  Where  you 
went  to  distill  poison  I  went  to  absorb  facts.  And  I 
found  that  here  in  this  great  democracy  is  the  [true 
idea.  But  you  will  not  read  the  lesson." 

Sweat  began  to  drop  from  Karlov's  beetling  eye- 
brows. 

"You  will  fail  miserably  here.  Why?  Because 
the  Americans  are  the  greatest  of  individual  prop- 
erty owners.  The  sense  of  possession  is  satisfied. 
And  woe  to  the  fool  who  suggests  they  surrender  this. 
Little  wooden  houses,  thousands  and  thousands  of 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  235 

them,  with  a  small  plot  of  ground  in  the  rear  where 
a  man  in  the  springtime  may  dig  his  hands  into  the 
soil  and  say  gratefully  to  God,  'Mine,  mine ! '  I,  too, 
am  a  Russ.  I  thought  in  the  beginning  that  you 
would  take  this  country  as  an  example,  a  government 
of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people.  Wrongs? 
Yes.  But  day  by  day  these  wrongs  are  being  righted. 
No  lesson  in  this  for  Trotzky,  a  beer-hall  orator  like 
yourself.  Ten  million  men  drafted  to  carry  arms. 
Did  they  revolt?  Shoulder  to  shoulder  the  selected 
millions  marched  to  the  great  ships,  shoulder  to 
shoulder  they  pressed  toward  the  Rhine.  No  lesson 
in  that! 

"Capitalism,  seeking  to  save  its  loans,  you  rant! 
Capitalism  of  blood  and  money  that  asked  only  for 
simple  justice  to  mankind.  The  ideal  of  a  great 
people — a  mixture  of  all  bloods,  even  German!  No 
lessons  in  these  tremendous  happenings!  And  you 
babble  about  your  damned  proletariat  who  repre- 
sents the  dregs  of  Russia.  What  is  he?  The  in- 
efficient, whining  that  the  other  man  has  the  luck,  so 
kill  him !  Russia,  the  kindly  ox,  fallen  among  wolves ! 
You  cannot  tear  down  the  keystone  of  civilization— 
which  took  seven  thousand  years  to  construct — in- 
sert it  upside  down,  and  expect  the  arch  to  stand. 
You  have  your  chance  to  prove  your  theories.  Prove 
them  in  Petrograd  and  Moscow,  and  you  will  not 
have  to  go  forth  with  the  torch.  And  what  is  this 
torch  but  the  hidden  fear  that  you  may  be 


236  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

wrong?  ...  To  wreck  the  world  before  you 
are  found  out!  You  are  idiots,  and  you  have  turned 
Russia  into  a  madhouse!  Spawns  from  the  dung- 
heap!" 

"Damn  you,  Stefani  Gregor!"  Karlov  rushed  to 
the  cot,  raised  his  terrible  fists,  his  chest  heaving. 
Gregor  waited.  "No,  no!  You  wish  to  die !"  The 
madman  swung  on  his  heels  and  dashed  toward  the 
door,  sweeping  the  pieces  of  the  violin  to  the  floor 
as  he  passed  the  table. 

Gregor  feebly  drew  himself  back  upon  his  cot  and 
laid  his  face  in  the  pillow. 

"Ivan — my  violin — all  that  I  knew  and  loved — • 
gone!  And  God  will  not  let  me  die!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

FROM  a  window  in  one  of  the  vacant  ware- 
houses, twenty-odd  feet  away  Cutty,  from  an 
oblique  angle,  had  witnessed  the  peculiar 
drama  without  being  able  to  grasp  head  or  tail  to  it. 
For  two  hours  he  had  crouched  behind  his  window, 
watching  the  man  on  the  cot  and  wondering  if  he 
would  ever  turn  his  face  toward  the  candlelight. 
Then  Karlov  had  entered.  Gregor's  ironic  calm — 
with  the  exception  of  the  time  he  had  bared  his 
throat — and  Karlov's  tempestuous  exit  baffled  him. 
To  the  eye  it  had  the  appearance  of  a  victory  for 
Gregor  and  a  defeat  for  Karlov,  but  Cutty  had  long 
ago  ceased  to  believe  his  eyes  without  some  corrobora- 
tive evidence  of  auricular  character. 

* 

He  had  recognized  both  men.  Karlov  answered 
to  Kitty's  description  as  an  old  glove  answers  to  the 
hand.  And  no  man,  once  having  seen  Gregor,  could 
possibly  forget  his  picturesque  head.  The  old  chap 
was  alive!  This  fact  made  the  night's  adventure 
tally  one  hundred  per  cent.  How  to  get  a  cheery 
word  to  him,  to  buck  him  up  with  the  promise  of 
help?  A  hard  nut  to  crack;  so  many  obstacles. 
Primarily,  this  was  a  Federal  affair.  Yonder  hid  the 
werewolf  and  his  pack,  and  it  would  be  folly  to  send 

237 


£38  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

them  scattering  just  for  the  sake  of  advising  Gregor 
that  he  was  being  watched  over. 

Underneath  the  official  obligation  there  was  a  per- 
sonal interest  in  not  risking  the  game  to  warn  Gregor. 
Cutty  was  now  positive  that  the  drums  of  jeopardy 
were  hidden  somewhere  in  this  house.  To  perform 
three  acts,  then:  Save  Gregor,  capture  Karlov  and 
his  pack,  and  privately  confiscate  the  emeralds. 
Findings  were  keepings.  No  compromise  regarding 
those  green  stones.  It  would  not  particularly  hurt 
his  reputation  with  St.  Peter  to  play  the  half  rogue 
once  in  a  lifetime.  Besides,  St.  Peter,  hadn't  he 
stolen  something  himself  back  there  in  the  Biblical 
days;x>r  got  into  a  scrape  or  something?  The  old  boy 
would  understand.  Cutty  grinned  in  the  dark. 

Any  obsession  is  a  blindfold.  A  straight  course 
lay  open  to  Cutty,  but  he  chose  the  labyrinthian 
because  he  was  obsessed.  He  wanted  those  emeralds. 
Nothing  less  than  the  possession  of  them  would,  to 
his  thinking,  round  out  a  varied  and  active  career. 
Later,  perhaps,  he  would  declare  the  stones  to  the 
customs  and  pay  the  duty;  perhaps.  Thus  his  sub- 
sequent mishaps  this  night  may  be  laid  to  the  fact 
that  he  thought  and  saw  through  green  spectacles. 

The  idea  that  the  jewels  were  hidden  near  by  made 
it  imperative  that  he  should  handle  this  affair  ex- 
clusively. Coles,  the  operative  he  had  sent  to 
negotiate  with  Karlov,  was  conceivably  a  prisoner 
upstairs  or  down.  Coles  knew  about  the  drums, 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  239 

and  they  must  not  turn  up  under  his  eye.  Federal 
property,  in  that  event. 

If  ever  he  laid  his  hands  upon  the  drums  he  would 
buy  something  gorgeous  for  Kitty.  Little  thorough- 
bred! 

Time  for  work.  Without  doubt  Karlov  had  cellar 
exits  through  this  warehouse  or  the  other.  The  job 
on  hand  would  be  first  to  locate  these  exits,  and  then 
to  the  trap  on  the  roof.  With  his  pocket  lamp  blaz- 
ing a  trail  he  went  down  to  the  cellar  and  carefully 
inspected  the  walls  that  abutted  those  of  the  house. 
Nothing  on  this  side. 

He  left  the  warehouse  and  hugged  the  street  wall 
for  a  space.  The  street  was  deserted.  Instead  of 
passing  Karlov's  abode  he  wisely  made  a  detour  of 
the  block.  He  reached  the  entrance  to  the  second 
warehouse  without  sighting  even  a  marauding  torn. 
In  the  cellar  of  this  warehouse  he  discovered  a  newly 
made  door,  painted  skillfully  to  represent  the  lime- 
stone of  the  foundation.  Tiptop. 

Immediately  he  outlined  the  campaign.  There 
should  be  two  drives — one  from  the  front  and  an- 
other from  the  roof — so  that  not  an  anarchist  or 
Bolshevik  could  escape.  The  mouth  of  the  Federal 
sack  should  be  held  at  this  cellar  exit.  No  matter 
what  kind  of  game  he  played  offside,  the  raid  itself 
must  succeed  absolutely.  Nothing  should  swerve 
him  from  making  these  plans  as  perfect  as  it  was 
humanly  possible.  He  would  be  on  hand  to  search 


240  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Karlov  himself.  If  the  drums  were  not  on  him  he 
would  return  and  pick  the  old  mansion  apart,  lath 
by  lath.  Gay  old  ruffian,  wasn't  he? 

Another  point  worth  considering:  He  would  keep 
his  discoveries  under  cover  until  the  hour  to  strike 
came.  Some  over-zealous  subordinate  might  at- 
tempt a  coup  on  his  own  and  spoil  everything. 

He  picked  his  way  to  the  far  end  of  the  cellar,  to 
the  doors.  Locks  gone.  He  took  it  for  granted 
that  the  real-estate  agent  would  not  come  round  with 
prospective  tenants.  These  doors  would  take  them 
into  the  trucking  alley,  where  there  were  a  dozen 
feasible  exits.  There  was  no  way  out  of  the  house 
yard,  as  the  brick  wall,  ten  feet  high  and  running 
from  warehouse  to  warehouse,  was  blind.  Now  for 
the  trap  on  the  roof. 

He  climbed  the  three  flights  of  stairs  crisscrossed 
and  festooned  with  ancient  cobwebs.  Occasionally 
he  sneezed  in  the  crook  of  his  elbow,  philosophizing 
over  the  fact  that  there  was  a  lot  of  dead  wood  prop- 
erty in  New  York.  Americans  were  eternally  on  the 
move. 

The  window  from  which  he  intended  dropping  to 
the  house  roof  was  obdurate.  Only  the  upper  half 
was  movable.  With  hardly  any  noise  at  all  he  pulled 
this  down,  straddled  it,  balanced  himself,  secured  a 
good  grip  on  the  ledge,  and  let  himself  down.  The 
tips  of  his  shoes,  rubber-soled,  just  reached  the  roof. 
He  landed  silently. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  241 

The  glare  of  the  street  lamp  at  the  corner  struck 
the  warehouse,  and  this  indirect  light  was  sufficient 
to  work  by.  He  made  the  trap  after  a  series  of 
extra-caUtious  steps.  The  roof  was  slanting  and 
pebbled,  and  the  least  turn  of  the  foot  might  start  a 
cascade  and  bell  an  alarm.  A  comfort-loving  dress- 
suiter  like  himself,  playing  Old  Sleuth,  when  he 
ought  to  be  home  and  in  bed!  It  was  all  of  two- 
thirty.  What  the  deuce  would  he  do  when  there 
were  no  more  thrills  in  life? 

He  stooped  and  caught  hold  of  a  corner  of  the 
trap  to  test  it — and  drew  back  with  a  silent  curse. 
Glass!  He  had  cut  his  hand.  The  beggars  had 
covered  the  trap  with  cement  and  broken  glass,  seal- 
ing it.  It  would  take  time  to  cut  round  the  trap; 
and  even  then  he  wouldn't  be  sure;  they  might 
have  nailed  it  down  from  the  inside.  The  worst 
of  it  was  he  would  have  to  do  the  work  himself;  and 
in  the  meantime  Karlov  would  have  a  fair  wind  for 
his  propaganda  gas,  and  perhaps  the  disposal  of  the 
drums  to  some  collector  who  wasn't  above  bargaining 
for  smuggled  emeralds.  Odd,  though,  that  Karlov 
should  have  made  a  prisoner  of  Coles.  What  lay 
behind  that  manoeuvre?  Well,  this  trap  must  be 
liberated;  no  getting  round  that. 

Hang  it,  he  wasn't  going  to  be  dishonest  exactly; 
it  would  be  simply  a  double  play,  half  for  Uncle  Sam 
and  half  for  himself.  The  idea  of  offering  freely 
his  blood  and  monev  to  Uncle  Sam  and  at  the  same 


242  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

time  putting  one  over  on  the  old  gentleman  had  a 
novel  appeal. 

He  stood  up  and  wiped  a  tickling  cobweb  from  his 
cheek.  As  the  window  from  which  he  had  descended 
came  into  range  he  stared,  loose- jawed.  Then  he 
chuckled,  as  thoroughbred  adventurers  generally 
chuckle  when  they  find  themselves  at  the  bottom  of 
the  sack,  the  mouth  of  which  has  subitaneously  and 
automatically  closed.  Wasn't  he  the  brainy  old  top? 
Wasn't  he  Sherlock  Holmes  plus?  Old  fool,  how  the 
devil  was  he  going  to  get  back  through  that  window? 

The  drums  of  jeopardy — even  to  think  of  them 
was  unlucky!  Not  to  have  planned  a  retreat;  to 
have  climbed  down  a  well  and  cut  the  bucket  rope! 
For  in  effect  that  was  precisely  what  he  had  done. 
Only  wings  could  carry  him  up  to  that  window. 
With  sardonic  humour  he  felt  of  his  shoulder  blades. 
Not  a  feather  in  sight.  Then  he  touched  his  ears. 
Ah,  here  was  something  definite;  they  had  grown 
several  inches  during  the  past  few  hours.  Monu- 
mental ass! 

Of  course  there  would  be  the  drain.  He  could 
escape;  but,  dear  Lord !  with  enough  noise  to  wake  the 
dead.  And  that  would  write  "Finis"  to  this  par- 
ticular adventure.  The  quarry  and  the  emeralds 
would  be  gone  before  he  could  return  with  help. 
When  everything  had  gone  so  smoothly — a  jolt 
like  this! 

A  crowded  day,  and  no  mistake,  as  full  of  individ- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  243 

ual  acts  as  a  bill  at  a  vaudeville,  trained-animal  act 
last.  Was  it  possible  that  he  had  gone  fiddle  hunt- 
ing that  morning,  netting  an  Amati  worth  ten 
thousand  dollars  ?  Hawksley — no,  he  couldn't  blame 
Hawksley.  Still,  if  this  young  Humpty-Dumpty 
hadn't  been  pushed  off  his  wall  he,  Cutty,  would 
not  now  be  marooned  upon  this  roof  'twixt  the  devil 
and  the  deep  blue  sea.  To  remain  here  until  sunrise 
would  be  impossible;  to  slide  down  the  drain  was 
equally  impossible — that  is,  if  he  ever  wanted  to  see 
Boris  Karlov  again.  The  way  of  the  transgressor 
was  hard. 

He  sat  on  his  heels  and  let  his  gaze  rove  four- 
square, permitting  no  object  to  escape.  He  saw  a 
clothes  pole  leaning  against  the  chimney.  Evidently 
the  former  tenants  had  hung  up  their  laundry  here. 
There  was  no  clothesline,  however.  Caught,  jolly 
well,  blooming  well  caught!  If  ever  this  got  abroad 
he  would  be  laughed  out  of  the  game.  He  wasn't 
going  to  put  one  over  on  Uncle  Sam  after  all.  There 
might  be  some  kind  of  a  fire  escape  on  the  front  of 
the  house.  No  harm  in  taking  a  look;  it  would  serve 
to  pass  the  time. 

There  was  the  usual  frontal  parapet  about  three 
feet  in  height.  Upturned  in  the  shadow  lay  a  gift 
from  the  gods — a  battered  kitchen  chair,  probably 
used  to  reach  the  clothesline  in  the  happy  days  when 
the  word  "Bolshevism"  was  known  to  only  a  select 
few  dark  angels. 


244  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Cutty  waved  a  hand  cheerfully  if  vaguely  toward 
his  guiding  star,  picked  up  the  chair,  commandeered 
the  clothes  pole,  and  silently  manoeuvred  to  the  wall 
of  the  warehouse.  Standing  on  the  chair  he  placed 
the  tip  of  the  pole  against  the  top  of  the  upper  frame 
and  pushed  the  frame  halfway  up.  He  repeated  this 
act  upon  the  obdurate  lower  half.  He  heaved  slowly 
but  with  all  his  force.  Glory  be,  the  lower  half 
went  up  far  enough  to  afford  ingress !  He  would  eat 
his  breakfast  in  the  apartment  as  usual.  To-morrow 
night  he  would  establish  his  line  of  retreat  by  fetching 
a  light  rope  ladder.  There  was  sweat  at  the  roots 
of  his  hair,  however,  when  he  finally  gained  the  street. 
He  was  very  tired.  He  observed  mournfully  that 
the  vigour  which  had  always  recharged  itself,  no  mat- 
ter how  recklessly  he  had  drawn  upon  it,  was  begin- 
ning to  protest.  Fifty-two. 

Well,  his  troubles  were  over  for  the  night.  So  he 
believed.  Arriving  home,  dirty  and  spent,  he  had  to 
find  Kitty  asleep  on  the  divan! 


CHAPTER  XXH 

KITTY,"  he  said,  breaking  the  tableau,  "what 
are  you  doing  here?" 
"You've  been  hurt!     There  is  blood  on 
you!" 

"A  trifling  cut.  But  I'm  hurt,  nevertheless,  that 
you  should  be  so  thoughtless  as  to  come  here  against 
my  orders.  It  doesn't  matter  that  Karlov  has  given 
up  the  idea  of  having  you  followed.  But  for  the  sake 
of  us  all  you  must  be  made  to  understand  that  we  are 
dealing  with  high  explosives  and  poison  gas.  It's 
not  what  might  happen  to  me  or  to  Uncle  Sam's  busi- 
ness. It's  you.  Any  moment  they  may  take  it  into 
their  heads  to  get  at  me  and  Hawksley  through  you. 
That's  why  we  watch  over  you.  You  don't  want 
to  see  Hawksley  done  in,  do  you?  It's  real  tragedy, 
Kitty,  and  nobody  can  guess  what  the  end  is  going  to 
be." 

Kitty's  lip  quivered.  "Cutty,  if  you  talk  like 
that  to  me  I  shall  cry." 

"Good  Lord,  what  about?"— bewildered. 

"About  everything.  I've  been  on  the  verge  of 
hysterics  all  day." 

"Kitty,  you  poor  child,  what's  happened?" 

"Nothing — everything.     Lonesome.     When  I  saw 

Ml 


246  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

all  those  mothers  and  wives  and  sisters  and  sweet« 
hearts  on  the  curb  to-day,  watching  their  boys  march 
by,  it  hit  me  hard.  I  was  alone.  Nobody.  So 
please  don't  be  cross  with  me.  I'm  on  the  ragged 
edge.  Silly,  I  know.  But  we  women  often  go  to 
pieces  over  nothing,  without  any  logical  reason. 
Ready  to  face  murder  and  battle  and  sudden  death; 
and  then  to  blow  up,  as  you  men  say  it,  over  nothing. 
I  had  to  move,  go  somewhere,  do  something;  so  I 
came  here.  But  I  came  on — what  do  you  call  it? — 
official  business.  Here!",  She  offered  him  the 
wallet. 

"What's  this?" 

"Belongs  to  Johnny  Two-Hawks.  He  hid  it  that 
night  behind  my  flatirons  on  the  range.  Why, 
Cutty,  he's  rich!" 

"Did  he  show  the  contents?" 

"Only  the  money  and  the  bonds.  He  said  if  he 
had  died  the  money  and  bonds  would  have  been 
mine." 

"Providing  Gregor  was  also  dead."  Cutty  looked 
into  the  wallet,  but  disturbed  nothing.  "I  imagine 
these  funds  are  actually  Gregor's." 

"He  told  me  to  give  the  wallet  to  you.  And  so 
I  waited.  I  fell  asleep.  So  please  don't  scold  me." 

"I'm  a  brute!  But  it's  because  you've  become  so 
much  to  me  that  I  was  angry.  You're  Tommy  and 
Molly's  girl,  and  I've  got  to  watch  out  for  you  until 
you  reach  some  kind  of  a  port." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  247 

"Thank  you  for  the  flowers.  You'll  never  know 
just  what  they  did  for  me.  There  was  somebody 
who  gave  me  a  thought." 

"Kitty,  I  honestly  don't  get  you.  A  beauty  like 
you,  lonesome!" 

"That's  it.  I  am  pretty.  Why  should  I  deny  it? 
If  I'd  been  homely  I  shouldn't  have  been  ashamed 
to  invite  my  friends  to  my  shabby  home.  I  shouldn't 
have  cold  shouldered  everybody  through  false  pride. 
But  where  have  you  been,  and  what  have  you  been 
doing?" 

"Official  business.  But  I  just  missed  being  a  fine 
jackass.  I'll  look  into  the  wallet  after  I've  cleaned 
up.  I'm  a  mess  of  gore  and  dust.  Is  it  interesting 
stuff?"  dreading  her  answer. 

"The  wallet?  I  did  not  look  into  it.  I  had  no 
right." 

"  Ah !    Well,  I'll  be  back  in  two  jigs." 

He  hurried  off,  relieved  to  learn  that  the  secret 
was  still  beyond  Kitty's  knowledge.  Of  course 
Hawksley  wouldn't  carry  anything  in  the  wallet 
by  which  his  true  identity  might  be  made  known. 
Still,  there  would  be  stuff  to  excite  her  interest  and 
suspicion.  Hawksley  had  shown  her  some  of  that 
three  hundred  thousand  probably.  WTiat  a  game! 

He  would  say  nothing  about  his  own  adventures 
and  discoveries.  He  worked  on  the  theory  that  the 
best  time  to  tell  about  something  was  after  it  had  be- 
come a  fact.  But  no  theory  is  perfect;  and  in  this  in- 


248  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

stance  his  reticence  was  going  to  cost  him  intolerable 
agony  in  the  near  future. 

Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  was  back  in  the 
living  room.  Kitty  was  out  of  sight;  probably  had 
curled  up  on  the  divan  again.  He  would  not  disturb 
her.  Hawksley's  wallet!  He  drew  a  chair  under 
the  reading  lamp  and  explored  the  wallet.  Money 
and  bonds  he  rather  expected,  but  the  customs  ap- 
praiser's receipt  was  like  a  buffet.  The  emeralds 
belonged  honorably  to  his  guest!  All  his  own  plans 
were  knocked  galley -west  by  this  discovery. 

An  odd  sense  of  indignation  blazed  up  in  him,  as 
though  someone  had  imposed  upon  him.  The  sport 
was  gone,  the  fun  of  the  thing;  it  became  merely 
official  business.  To  appropriate  a  pair  of  smuggled 
emeralds  was  a  first-class  sporting  proposition,  with  a 
humorous  twist.  As  it  stood  now,  he  would  be  pick- 
ing Hawksley's  pocket;  and  he  wasn't  rogue  enough 
for  that.  Hang  the  luck! 

Emeralds,  rubies,  sapphires,  pearls,  and  diamonds! 
No  doubt  many  of  them  with  histories — in  a  bag 
hung  to  his  neck — and  all  these  thousands  of  miles' 
Not  since  the  advent  of  the  Gaekwar  of  Baroda  into 
San  Francisco,  in  1910,  had  so  many  fine  stones 
passed  through  that  port  of  entry. 

But  why  hadn't  Hawksley  inquired  about  them? 
Stoic  indifference?  A  good  loser?  How  had  he  got 
through  the  customs  without  a  lot  of  publicity? 
The  Russian  consul  of  the  old  regime  probably; 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  249 

and  an  appraiser  who  was  a  good  sport.  To  have 
come  safely  to  his  destination,  and  then  to  have  lost 
out !  The  magnificent  careless  generosity  of  putting 
the  wallet  behind  Kitty's  flatirons,  to  be  hers  if  he 
didn't  pull  through !  Why,  this  fiddling  derelict  was 
a  man!  Stood  up  and  fought  Karlov  with  his  bare 
fists;  wasn't  ashamed  to  weep  over  his  mother's 
photograph;  and  fiddled  like  Heifetz.  All  right. 
This  Johnny  Two-Hawks,  as  Kitty  persisted  in  call- 
ing him,  was  going  to  reach  his  Montana  ranch.  His 
friend  Cutty  would  take  it  upon  himself  to  see  to 
that 

It  struck  him  that  after  all  he  would  have  to  play 
the  game  as  he  had  planned  it.  Those  gems  falling 
into  the  hands  of  the  Federal  agents  would  surely 
bring  to  light  Hawksley's  identity;  and  Hawksley 
should  have  his  chance. 

Cutty  then  came  upon  the  will.  Somehow  the 
pathos  of  it  went  deep  into  his  heart.  The  poor 
devil! — a  will  that  hadn't  been  witnessed,  the  hand- 
writing the  same  as  that  on  the  passport.  If  he  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  police  they  would  have 
justifiably  locked  him  up  as  a  murder  suspect.  Two- 
Hawks!  It  was  a  small  world.  He  returned  the 
contents  to  the  wallet,  leaving  out  the  will,  however. 
This  he  thrust  into  a  drawer. 

"Coffee?"  said  Kitty  at  his  elbow. 

"Kitty?  I'd  forgotten  you!  I  thought  I  smelt 
loffee.  Just  what  I  wanted,  too,  only  I  hadn't  brains 


250  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

enough  left  to  think  of  it.  Smells  better  than  any- 
thing Kuroki  makes.  .  .  .  Tastes  better,  too. 
You're  going  to  make  some  lucky  duffer  a  fine  wife." 

"Is  there  anything  you  can  tell  me,  Cutty?" 

"A  whole  lot,  Kitty;  only  I'm  twenty  years  too 
old." 

"I  mean  the  wallet.    Who  is  he?" 

Cutty  drained  the  cup  slowly.  A  good  coherent 
lie,  to  appease  Kitty's  curiosity;  half  a  truth,  some- 
thing hard  to  nail.  He  set  down  the  empty  cup, 
building.  By  the  time  he  had  filled  his  pipe  and  lit 
it  he  was  ready. 

Something  bored  up  through  the  subconscious, 
however — a  query.  Why  hadn't  he  told  her  the  plain 
truth  at  the  start?  Wasn't  on  account  of  the  drums. 
He  hadn't  kept  her  in  the  dark  because  of  the  drums. 
He  could  have  trusted  her  with  that  part  of  it — his 
tentative  piracy.  That  to  divulge  Hawksley's  iden- 
tity would  be  a  menace  to  her  peace  of  mind  now  ap- 
peared ridiculous;  and  yet  he  had  worked  forward 
from  this  assumption.  No  answer  to  the  query. 
Generally  he  thought  clearly  enough;  but  somewhere 
along  this  route  he  had  made  a  muddle  of  things  and 
couldn't  find  the  spot.  The  only  point  clearly  de- 
fined was  that  he  should  wish  to  keep  her  out  of 
the  affair  because  there  were  elements  of  positive 
danger.  But  somewhere  inside  of  him  was  a  question 
asking  for  recognition,  and  it  eluded  him.  Nothing 
could  be  solved  until  this  question  got  out  of  the  fog. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  251 

Even  now  he  might  risk  the  whole  truth;  but  the  lie 
he  had  woven  appeared  too  good  to  waste. 

Human  frailty.  The  most  accomplished  human 
being  is  the  finished  liar.  Never  to  forget  a  detail, 
to  remember  step  by  step  the  windings,  over  a  ticklish 
road.  And  Cutty,  for  all  his  wide  newspaper  ex- 
perience, was  a  poor  liar  because  he  had  been  brought 
up  on  facts.  Perhaps  his  lie  might  have  passed  had 
he  not  been  so  fagged.  The  physical  labours  of  the 
night  had  dulled  his  perceptions. 

"Ah,  but  that  tastes  good!" — as  he  blew  forth  a 
wavering  ring  of  smoke. 

"It  ought  to  have  at  least  one  merit,"  replied 
Kitty,  wrinkling  her  nose.  What  a  fine  profile 
Cutty  had !  "  Now,  who  and  what  is  he  ?  I'm  dying 
to  know." 

"An  odd  story;  probably  hundreds  like  it.  You 
see,  the  Bolsheviki  have  driven  out  of  the  country 
or  killed  all  the  nobles  and  bourgeoisie.  Some  of 
them  have  escaped — into  China,  Sweden,  India, 
wherever  they  could  find  an  open  route.  To  his 
story  there  are  many  loose  ends,  and  Hawksley  is  not 
the  talking  kind.  You  mustn't  repeat  what  I  tell 
you.  Hawksley,  with  all  that  money  and  a  forged 
English  passport,  would  have  a  good  deal  of  trouble 
explaining  if  he  ran  afoul  the  police.  There  is  no  real 
proof  that  the  money  is  his  or  Gregorys .  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  it  is  Gregor's,  and  Hawksley  was  bringing 
it  to  him.  Hawksley  is  Gregor's  protege." 


£52  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Kitty  nodded.  This  dovetailed  with  what  Johnny 
Two-Hawks  had  told  her  that  night. 

"How  the  two  came  together  originally  I  don't 
know.  Gregor  was  in  his  younger  days  a  great 
violinist,  but  unknown  to  the  American  public.  Early 
in  his  career  he  speculated  with  his  concert  earnings 
and  turned  a  pot  of  money.  He  dropped  the  pro- 
fessional career  for  that  of  a  country  gentleman.  He 
had  a  handsome  estate,  and  lived  sensibly.  He  sent 
Hawksley  to  England  to  school  and  spent  a  good 
deal  of  time  there  with  him,  teaching  him  how  to 
play  the  fiddle,  for  which  it  seems  Hawksley  had  a 
natural  bent.  He  had  to  Anglicize  his  name;  for 
Two-Hawks  would  have  made  people  laugh.  To 
be  a  gentleman,  Kitty,  one  does  not  have  to 
oe  a  prince  or  a  grand  duke.  Gregor  was  a  pol- 
ished gentleman,  and  he  turned  Hawksley  into 
one." 

Again  Kitty  nodded,  her  eyes  sparkling. 

"The  Russ — the  educated  Russ — is  a  queer 
biscuit.  Got  to  have  a  finger  in  some  political  pie, 
and  political  pies  in  Russia  before  the  war  were  lese- 
majesty.  The  result — Gregor  got  in  wrong  with  his 
secret  society  and  the  political  police  and  was  forced 
to  fly  to  save  his  life.  But  before  he  fled  he  had  all 
his  convertible  funds  transferred.  Only  his  estate 
was  confiscated.  Hawksley  was  in  London  when  the 
war  broke  out.  There  was  a  lot  of  red  tape,  naturally, 
regarding  the  funds.  I  shan't  bother  you  with  that., 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  253 

Hawksley,  hoping  to  better  his  protector's  future, 
returned  to  Russia  and  joined  his  regiment  and 
fought  until  the  Czar  abdicated.  Foretasting  the 
trend  of  events,  he  tried  to  get  back  to  England,  but 
that  was  impossible.  He  was  permitted  to  retire  to 
the  Gregor  estate,  where  he  remained  until  the  up- 
rising of  the  Bolsheviki.  Then  he  started  across  the 
world  to  join  Gregor." 

"That  was  brave." 

"It  certainly  was.  I  imagine  that  Hawksley's 
journey  has  that  of  Ulysses  laid  away  on  the  shelf. 
Karlov  was  the  head  of  the  society  which  had  voted 
Gregor's  death.  So  he  had  agents  watching  Hawks- 
ley.  And  Karlov  himself  undertook  the  chase  across 
Russia,  China,  and  the  Pacific." 

"I'm  glad  I  gave  him  something  to  eat.  But 
Gregor,  a  valet  in  a  hotel,  with  all  that  money!" 

"The  red  tape." 

"What  a  dizzy  world  we  live  in,  Cutty!" 

"Dizzy  is  the  word."  Cutty  sighed.  His  yam 
had  passed  a  very  shrewd  censor.  "Karlov  feels  it 
his  duty  to  kill  off  all  his  countrymen  who  do  not 
agree  with  his  theories.  He  wanted  these  funds 
here,  but  Hawksley  was  too  clever  for  him.  Remem- 
ber, now,  not  a  word  of  this  to  Hawksley.  I  tell  you 
this  in  confidence." 

"I  promise." 

"You'll  have  to  spend  the  night  here.  It's  round 
four,  and  the  power  has  been  shut  off.  There's  the 


254  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

stairs,  but  it  would  be  dawn  before  you  reach  the 
street." 

"Who  cares?" 

"I  do.  I  don't  believe  you're  in  a  good  mood  to 
send  back  to  that  garlicky  warren.  I  wish  to  the 
Lord  you'd  leave  it!" 

"It's  difficult  to  find  anything  desirable  within  my 
means.  Rents  are  terrifying.  I'll  sleep  on  the 
divan.  A  rug  or  a  blanket.  I'm  a  silly  fool,  I 
Suppose." 

"You  can  have  a  guest  room." 

"I'd  rather  the  divan;  less  scandalous.  Cutty,  I 
forgot.  He  played  for  me." 

"What?     He  did?" 

"I  had  to  run  out  of  the  room  because  some  things 
he  said  choked  me  up.  Didn't  care  whether  he  died 
or  not.  He  was  even  lonelier  than  I.  I  lay  down  on 
the  divan,  and  then  I  heard  music.  Funny,  but 
somehow  I  fancied  he  was  calling  me  back;  and  I  had 
to  hang  on  to  the  divan.  Cutty,  he  is  a  great 
violinist." 

"Are  you  fond  of  music?" 

"I  am  mad  about  it!  I'm  always  running  round 
to  concerts;  and  I'd  walk  from  Battery  to  Bronx  to 
hear  a  good  violinist." 

Fiddles  and  Irish  hearts.  Swiftly  came  the 
vision  of  Hawksley  fiddling  the  heart  out  of  this 
lonely  girl — if  he  had  the  chance.  And  he,  Cutty, 
was  going  to  fascinate  her — with  what?  He  rose  and 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  255 

took  her  by  the  shoulders,  bringing  her  round  so  that 
the  light  was  full  in  her  face.  Slate-blue  eyes. 

"Kitty,  what  would  you  say  if  I  kissed  you?" 
Inwardly  he  asked :  "  Now,  what  the  devil  made  me 
say  that?" 

The  sinister  and  cynical  idea  leaped  from  its  am- 
bush. "Why,  Cutty,  I— I  don't  believe  I  should 
mind.  It's — it's  you!"  Vile  wretch  that  she  was! 

Cutty,  noting  the  lily  succeeding  the  rose,  did  not 
kiss  her.  Fate  has  a  way  of  reversing  the  illogical 
and  giving  it  logical  semblance.  It  was  perfectly 
logical  that  he  should  not  kiss  her;  and  yet  that  was 
exactly  what  he  should  have  done.  The  fatherliness 
of  the  salute — and  he  couldn't  have  made  it  any- 
thing else — would  have  shamed  Kitty's  peculiar 
state  of  mind  out  of  existence  and  probably  sent  back 
to  its  eternal  sleep  that  which  was  strangely  reawak- 
ing  in  his  lonely  heart. 

"Forgive  me,  Kitty.  That  wasn't  exactly  nice  of 
me,  even  if  I  was  trying  to  be  funny." 

She  tore  away  from  him,  flung  herself  upon  the 
divan,  her  face  in  the  pillows,  and  let  down  the 
dam. 

This  wild  sobbing — apparently  without  any  reason 
—terrified  Cutty.  He  put  both  hands  into  his  hair, 
but  he  drew  them  out  immediately  without  retaining 
any  of  the  thinning  gray  locks.  Done  up,  both  of 
them;  that  was  the  matter.  He  longed  to  console 
her,  but  knew  not  what  to  say  or  how  to  act.  He  had 


256  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

not  seen  a  woman  weep  like  this  in  so  many  years 
that  he  had  forgotten  the  remedies. 

Should  he  call  the  nurse?  But  that  would  only 
add  to  Kitty's  embarrassment,  and  the  nurse  would 
naturally  misinterpret  the  situation.  He  couldn't 
kneel  and  put  his  arms  round  her;  and  yet  it  was  a 
situation  that  called  for  arms  and  endearments.  He 
had  sense  enough  to  recognize  that.  Molly's  girl 
crying  like  that,  and  he  able  to  do  nothing!  It 
was  intolerable.  But  what  was  she  weeping  about? 

Covering  the  divan  was  a  fine  piece  of  Bokhara 
embroidery.  He  drew  this  down  over  Kitty  and 
tucked  her  in,  turned  off  the  light,  and  proceeded  to 
his  bedroom. 

Kitty's  sobs  died  eventually.  There  was  an 
occasional  hiccup.  That,  too,  disappeared.  To 
play — or  even  think  of  playing — a  game  like  that! 
She  was  despicable.  A  silly  little  fool,  too,  to 
suppose  that  so  keen  a  mind  as  Cutty's  would  not 
see  through  the  artifice !  What  was  happening  to  her 
that  she  could  let  such  a  thought  into  her  head? 

By  and  by  she  was  able  to  pick  up  Cutty's  narra- 
tive and  review  it.  Not  a  word  about  the  drums  of 
jeopardy,  the  mark  of  the  thong  round  Hawksley's 
neck.  Hadn't  she  let  him  know  that  she  knew  the 
author  of  that  advertisement  offering  to  buy  the 
drums,  no  questions  asked?  Very  well,  then;  if  he 
would  not  tell  her  the  truth  she  would  have  to  find  it 
out  herself. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  257 

Meanwhile,  Cutty  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bed  staring 
blankly  at  the  rug,  trying  to  find  a  pick-up  to  the 
tangled  emotions  that  beset  him.  One  thing  issued 
clearly:  He  had  wanted  to  kiss  the  child.  He  still 
wanted  to  kiss  her.  Why  hadn't  he?  Unanswer- 
able. It  was  still  unanswerable  even  when  the 
pallor  of  dawn  began  slowly  to  absorb  the  artificial 
light  of  his  bed  lamp. 


CHAPTER  XXIH 

WHEN  Cutty  awoke — having  had  about  two 
hours'  sleep — he  was  instantly  conscious 
that  the  zest  had  gone  from  the  adventure. 
It  had  resolved  itself  into  official  business  into  which 
he  had  projected  himself  gratuitously;  and  having 
assumed  the  offices  of  chief  factor,  he  would  have  to 
see  the  affair  through,  victim  of  his  own  greediness. 
It  did  not  serve  to  marshal  excuses.  He  had  frankly 
entered  the  affair  in  the  role  of  buccaneer;  and  here  he 
was,  high  and  dry  on  the  reef. 

The  drums  of  jeopardy,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned, 
had  been  shot  into  the  moon  two  hundred  thousand 
miles  out  of  reach.  He  found  himself  resenting 
Hawksley's  honesty  in  the  matter  of  the  customs. 

But  immediately  this  sense  of  resentment  caused 
him  to  chuckle.  Certainly  some  ancestor  of  his  had 
been  a  Black  Bart  or  a  Galloping  Dick. 

He  would  put  a  few  straight  questions  to  Hawks- 
ley,  however.  To  have  lost  all  those  precious  stones 
and  not  to  have  inquired  about  them  was  a  bit  foggy, 
wasn't  normal,  human.  Unless — bang  on  the  plexus 
came  the  thought! — the  beggar  had  hidden  them 
himself.  He  had  been  exceedingly  clever  in  hiding 
the  wallet.  Come  to  think  of  it,  he  hadn't  mentioned 

258 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  259 

that,  either.  Of  course  he  had  hidden  the  stones — 
either  in  Gregor's  apartment  or  in  Kitty's.  Blind  as 
a  bat.  Now  he  understood  why  Karlov  had  made  a 
prisoner  of  Coles.  The  old  buzzard  had  sensed  a 
trap  and  had  countered  it.  The  way  of  the  trans- 
gressor was  hard.  His  punishment  for  entertaining 
a  looter's  idea  would  be  work  when  he  wanted  to  loaf 
and  enjoy  himself. 

Arriving  at  Hawksley's  door  he  was  confronted  by 
a  spectacle  not  without  its  humorous  touch:  The 
nurse  extending  a  bowl  and  Hawksley  staring  at  the 
sky  beyond  the  window,  stonily. 

"But  you  must!"  insisted  Miss  Frances 

"Chops  or  beef  steak!" 

"It  will  give  you  nausea." 

"Permit  me  to  find  out.  Dash  it,  I'm  hungry!" 
Hawksley  declared.  "I'm  no  fever  patient.  A 
smart  rap  on  the  head;  nothing  more  than  that. 
Healthy  food  will  draw  the  blood  down  from  there. 
Haven't  lost  anything  but  a  few  hours  of  conscious- 
ness, and  you  treat  me  as  though  I'd  been  jolly  well 
peppered  with  shrapnel  and  gassed.  Touch  that 
stuff?  Rather  not!  Chops  or  beefsteak!" 

"Let  him  have  it,  Miss  Frances,"  advised  Cutty 
from  the  doorway. 

"But  it's  unusual,"  replied  the  nurse  as  a  final 
protest. 

"Give  it  a  try.  Is  he  strong  enough  to  sit  up 
through  breakfast?" 


260  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"He's  really  not  fit.  But  if  he  insists  on  doing  the 
one  he  might  as  well  do  the  other." 

"Righto!" — from  the  patient. 

"Will  you  tell  Kuroki  to  make  it  a  beefsteak 
breakfast  for  four?  I  know  how  Mr.  Hawksley 
feels.  Been  through  the  same  bout."  Cutty  wanted 
Miss  Frances  out  of  the  room. 

"Very  well.  Only,  I've-  warned  him."  Miss 
Frances  left,  somewhat  miffed. 

"Thanks,"  said  Hawksley,  smiling.  "She  thinks 
I'm  a  canary." 

"Whereas  you're  an  eagle." 

"Or  a  vulture." 

Cutty  drew  up  a  chair.  "Frankly,  I  believe  a  good 
breakfast  will  put  you  a  peg  up." 

"A  beefsteak!"  Hawksley  stared  ecstatically  at 
the  ceiling.  "You  see,  I'm  naturally  tough.  Al- 
ways went  hi  for  rough  sports — football,  rowing, 
boxing.  Poor  old  Stefani's  idea;  and  not  so  bad, 
either.  Of  course  he  was  always  worrying  about  my 
hands;  but  I  always  took  great  care  to  keep  them 
soft  and  pliant.  Which  sounds  rummy,  considering 
the  pounding  I  used  to  give  and  take.  My  word,  I 
used  to  go  to  bed  with  my  hands  done  up  in  oint- 
ments like  a  professional  beauty!  Of  course  I'm 
dizzy  yet,  and  the  bally  spot  is  sore;  but  solid  food 
and  some  exercise  will  have  me  off  your  hands  in  no 
time.  I  don't  fancy  being  coddled,  y'know.  I've 
been  trouble  enough." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  261 

"Don't  let  that  worry  you.  I'll  bring  some  togs 
in;  flannels  and  soft  shirts.  We're  about  the  same 
height.  Anyhow,  the  difference  won't  be  noticeable 
in  flannels.  I've  had  to  tell  Miss  Conover  a  bit  of 
fiction.  I'll  tell  you,  so  if  need  arises  you  can  back 
me  up." 

When  Cutty  finished  his  romance  Hawksley 
frowned.  "All  said  and  done,  if  I'm  not  that 
splendid  old  chap's  protege,  what  am  I?  But  for  his 
patience  and  kindness  I'd  have  run  true  to  the  blood. 
He  was  with  me  at  the  balancing  age,  when  a  chap 
becomes  a  man  or  a  rotter.  He  actually  gave  up  a 
brilliant  career  because  of  me.  He  is  a  great 
musician,  with  that  strange  faculty  of  taking  souls 
out  of  people  and  untwisting  them.  I  have  the  gift, 
too,  in  a  way;  but  there's  always  a  bit  of  the  devil  in 
me  when  I  play.  Natural  bent,  I  fancy.  And 
they've  killed  him!" 

"No,"  said  Cutty,  slowly.  "But  this  is  for  your 
ear  alone:  He's  alive;  and  one  of  these  days  I'll 
bring  him  to  you.  So  buck  up." 

"Alive!  Stefani  alive!"  whispered  Hawksley. 
He  stretched  out  his  hand  rather  blindly,  and  Cutty 
was  surprised  at  the  strength  of  the  grip.  "Makes 
me  feel  choky.  I  say,  are  all  Americans  good 
Samaritans?" 

Cutty  put  this  aside  because  he  did  not  care  to 
disillusion  Hawksley.  "I  found  an  appraiser's 
receipt  in  your  wallet.  You  carried  some  fine 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

jewels.  Did  you  hide  them  or  did  Karlov  get  them? 
It  struck  me  as  odd  that  you  haven't  inquired  about 
them."  The  change  that  came  into  Hawksley's 
face  alarmed  Cutty.  The  rich  olive  skin  became 
chalky  and  the  eyes  closed.  "What  is  it?  Shall  I 
call  Miss  Frances?" 

"No."  Hawksley  opened  his  eyes,  but  looked 
dully  straight  ahead.  "  The  stones !  I  was  trying  to 
forget!  My  God,  I  was  trying  to  forget!" 

"But  they  were  yours?"  Cutty  was  mystified 
beyond  expression. 

"Yes,  mine,  mine,  mine!" — panting.  "Damn 
them!  Some  day  I'll  tell  you.  But  just  now  I  can't 
toe  the  mark.  I  was  trying  to  forget  them !  Against 
my  heart,  gnawing  into  my  soul  like  the  beetle  of  the 
Spanish  Inquisition!"  Silence.  "But  they  were 
future  bread  and  butter — for  Gregor  as  well  as  for 
myself.  They  got  them,  and  may  they  damn 
Karlov  as  they  have  damned  me!  I  had  no  chance 
when  I  returned  to  Gregorys.  They  were  on  me 
instantly.  I  put  up  a  fight,  but  I'd  come  from  a 
lighted  room  and  was  practically  blind.  Let  them 
go.  Most  of  those  stones  came  out  of  hell,  anyhow. 
Let  them  go.  There  is  an  unknown  grave  between 
those  stones  and  me." 

The  level  despair  of  the  tone  appalled  Cutty.  A 
crime  somewhere?  There  was  still  a  bottom  to  this 
affair  he  had  not  plumbed?  He  rose,  deeply  agitated. 

"I'll  fetch  those  togs  for  you.     Miss  Conover  wfll 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  263 

breakfast  with  us,  and  the  sight  of  her  will  give  you  a 
brace.  I'm  sorry.  I  had  to  ask  you." 

"Beefsteak  and  a  pretty  girl!  That's  something. 
I  suppdse  she  was  trapped  by  the  lift  not  running." 
Hawksley  was  trying  to  meet  Cutty  halfway  to 
cover  up  the  tragedy.  *'I  say,  why  the  deuce  do  you 
let  her  live  where  she  does?" 

"Because  I'm  not  legally  her  guardian.  She  is  the 
daughter  of  the  man  and  woman  I  loved  best.  All  I 
can  do  is  to  watch  over  her.  She  lives  on  her  earn- 
ings as  a  newspaper  write*.  I'd  give  her  half  of 
all  I  have  if  I  had  the  least  idea  she  would  accept 
it." 

"Fond  of  her?" 

"Fond  of  her!"  repeated  Cutty.  "Why,  of 
course  I'm  fond  of  her!"  There  was  a  touch  of 
indignation  in  his  tone. 

"Is  she  fond  of  you?" 

"I  suppose  so."     What  was  the  chap  driving  at? 

"Then  marry  her,"  suggested  Hawksley  with  a 
cynical  smile;  "make  a  settlement  and  give  her  her 
freedom.  Simple  enough.  What?" 

Cutty  stepped  back,  stunned  and  terrified.  "She 
would  laugh  at  me!" 

"You  never  can  tell,"  replied  Hawksley,  main- 
taining the  crooked  smile.  The  devil  was  blazing  in 
his  eyes  now.  "Try  it.  It's  being  done  every  day; 
even  here  in  this  big  America  of  yours.  From  the 
European  point  of  view  you  have  compromised  her- 


264  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

or  she  has  compromised  herself,  by  spending  the 
night  here.  Convention  has  been  disregarded.  A 
ripping  good  chance,  I  call  it.  You  tell  me  she 
wouldn't  accept  benefits,  and  you  want  to  help  her. 
If  she's  the  kind  I  believe  her  to  be,  even  if  she 
refuses  you  she  will  not  be  angry.  You  never  can 
tell  what  woman  will  or  won't  do." 

An  old  and  forgotten  bit  of  mental  machinery 
began  to  set  up  a  clitter-clatter  in  Cutty's  brain. 
Marry  Kitty?  Make  a  settlement,  and  then  give  her 
her  freedom?  Rot!  Girls  of  Kitty's  calibre  were 
above  such  expediencies.  He  tried  to  resurrect  his 
interest  in  the  drums  of  jeopardy,  which  he  might 
now  appropriate  without  having  to  shanghai  his 
conscience.  The  clitter-clatter  smothered  it;  indeed, 
this  new  racket  upset  and  demoralized  the  well- 
ordered  machinery  of  his  thinking  apparatus  as 
applied  daily.  Marry  Kitty ! 

"I'm  old  enough  to  be  her  father." 

"What's  that  to  do  with  it  so  long  as  convention  is 
satisfied?" 

Cutty  was  so  shaken  and  confused  that  he  missed 
the  tragic  irony  of  the  voice.  All  the  receptive 
avenues  to  his  brain  seemed  to  have  shut  down 
suddenly.  He  was  conscious  only  of  the  clitter- 
clatter.  Marry  Kitty! 

"You  can't  settle  money  on  her,"  went  on  Hawks- 
ley,  "without  scandal.  You  can't  offer  her  any- 
thing without  offending  her.  And  you  can't  let 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  265 

her  go  to  rust  without  having  her  bit  of  good 
times." 

"Utterly  impossible,"  said  Cutty,  to  the  idea 
rather  than  to  his  tormentor. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  you  have  an  affair —  No,  God 
forgive  me,  I  don't  mean  that!  I'm  a  damned 
ingrate!  But  your  bringing  up  those  stones  and 
knocking  off  the  top  of  all  the  misery  piling  up  in  my 
heart!  I  was  only  trying  to  hurt  you,  hurt  myself, 
everybody.  Please  have  a  little  patience  with  me, 
for  I've  come  out  of  hell!"  Hawksley  turned  aside 
his  head. 

"Buck  up,"  said  Cutty,  his  blazing  wrath  dropping 
to  a  smoulder.  "  I'll  fetch  those  togs." 

What  had  the  boy  done  to  fill  him  with  such 
tragic  bitterness?  Was  he  Two-Hawks?  Cutty 
dismissed  this  doubt  instantly.  He  recalled  the 
episode  of  the  boy's  conduct  when  confronted  by  the 
photograph  of  his  mother.  No  human  being  could 
be  a  play  actor  in  such  a  moment.  The  boy's 
emotion  had  been  deep  and  real.  Cutty  recognized 
the  fact  that  he  had  become  as  a  block  in  the  middle 
of  a  Chinese  puzzle;  only  Fate  could  move  him  to  his 
appointed  place. 

But  offer  marriage  to  Kitty  so  that  he  could 
provide  for  her!  Mechanically  he  rummaged  his 
clothes  press  for  the  suit  he  was  to  take  to  Hawksley. 
Well,  why  not?  He  could  settle  five  thousand  a 
year  on  her.  His  departure  for  the  Balkans— he 


266  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

might  be  gone  a  year  or  more — could  be  legally 
construed  as  desertion.  And  with  pretty  clothes  and 
freedom  she  would  soon  find  some  young  chap  to  her 
liking.  But  would  a  girl  like  Kitty  see  it  from  his 
point  of  view?  The  marriage  could  take  place  an 
hour  or  two  before  he  went  aboard  his  ship.  Hang 
it,  Hawksley  wasn't  so  far  off.  Kitty  couldn't 
possibly  be  offended  if  he  laid  the  business  squarely 
on  the  table.  To  provide  for  Molly's  girl ! 

When  Kuroki  announced  that  breakfast  was 
ready,  Cutty  went  into  the  living  room  for  Kitty, 
whom  he  had  not  yet  seen.  He  found  her  by  a 
window  fascinated  by  the  splendour  of  the  panorama 
as  seen  in  the  morning  light.  Not  a  vestige  of  the 
tears  and  disorder  in  which  he  had  left  her.  What 
had  been  behind  those  tears?  Dainty  and  refreshing 
to  the  eye  as  though  she  had  stepped  out  of  a  band- 
box. Compromised?  That  was  utter  rot!  Wasn't 
Miss  Frances  here?  Glitter-clatter,  clitter-clatter.' 
But  Cutty  was  not  aware  that  it  was  no  longer  in  his 
head  but  in  his  heart. 

"Breakfast  is  served,  Your  Highness,"  he  an- 
nounced with  a  grave  salaam. 

Kitty  pirouetted.  For  some  reason  she  could 
not  explain  to  herself  she  wanted  to  laugh,  sing, 
dance.  Perhaps  it  was  because  she  was  only 
twenty -four.  Or  it  might  have  had  its  origin  in  the 
tonicky  awakening  among  all  these  beautiful  fur- 
nishings. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  267 

She  assumed  a  haughty  expression — such  as  the 
Duchess  of  Gerolstein  assumes  when  she  appoints  the 
private  to  the  office  of  generalissimo — and  with  a 
careless"  wave  of  the  hand  said:  "Summon  His 
Highness!" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

BETWEEN  Cutty's  heart  and  his  throat  there 
was  very  little  space  at  that  moment  for  the 
propelment  of  sound.  Kitty  Conover  had 
innocently — he  understood  that  almost  immediately 
and  recovered  his  mental  balance — Kitty  had  inno- 
cently thrown  a  bomb  at  his  feet.  It  did  not  matter 
that  it  was  a  dud.  The  result  was  the  same.  For  a 
second,  then,  all  the  terror,  all  the  astounding 
suspension  of  thought  and  action  attending  the 
arrival  of  a  shell  on  the  battlefield  were  his. 

As  an  aftermath  he  would  have  liked  very  much  to 
sit  down.  Instead,  maintaining  the  mock  gravity 
of  his  expression,  he  offered  his  arm,  which  Kitty 
accepted,  still  the  Grand  Duchess  of  Gerolstein. 
Pompously  they  marched  into  the  dining  room.  But 
as  Kitty  saw  Hawksley  she  dropped  the  air  con- 
fusedly, and  hesitated.  "Good  gracious!"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Cutty  whispered  in  turn. 

"My  clothes!" 

"What's  the  matter  with  'em?  " 

"I  slept  in  them!" 

If  that  wasn't  like  a  woman!  It  did  not  matter 
how  she  might  look  to  an  old  codger,  setat.  fifty-two; 

268 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  269 

he  didn't  count.  But  a  handsome  young  chap, 
now,  in  white  flannels  and  sport  shirt,  his  head 
bound  picturesquely— 

"Don't  let  that  bother  you,"  he  said.  "Those 
duds  of  his  are  mine." 

Still,  Cutty  was  grateful  for  this  little  diversion. 
As  he  drew  back  Kitty's  chair  he  was  wholly  himself 
again.  At  once  he  dictated  the  trend  of  the  con- 
versation, moved  it  whither  he  willed,  into  strange 
channels,  gave  them  all  a  glimpse  of  his  amazing 
versatility,  with  vivid  shafts  of  humour  to  light  up 
corners. 

Kuroki,  who  had  travelled  far  with  his  master  these 
ten  years,  sometimes  paused  in  his  rounds  to  nod 
affirmatively. 

Hawksley  listened  intently,  wondering  a  bit. 
What  was  the  dear  old  beggar's  idea,  throwing  such 
fireworks  round  at  breakfast?  He  stole  a  glance  at 
Kitty  to  see  how  she  was  taking  it — and  caught  her 
stealing  a  glance  at  him.  Instantly  both  switched 
back  to  Cutty.  Shortly  the  little  comedy  was 
repeated  because  neither  could  resist  the  invisible 
force  of  some  half-conscious  inquiry.  Third  time, 
they  smiled  unembarrassedly.  Mind  you,  they  were 
both  hanging  upon  Cutty's  words;  only  their  eyes 
were  like  little  children  at  church,  restless.  It  was 
spring. 

Without  being  exactly  conscious  of  what  he  was 
doing,  Hawksley  began  to  dress  Kitty— that  is,  he 


270  Tlie  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

visualized  her  in  ball  gowns,  in  sports,  in  furs.  He 
put  her  on  horses,  in  opera  boxes,  in  limousines.  But 
in  none  of  these  pictures  could  he  hold  her;  she  in- 
sisted upon  returning  to  her  kitchen  to  fry  bacon  and 
eggs. 

Then  came  a  twisted  thought,  rejected  only  to 
return;  a  surprising  thought,  so  alluring  that  the 
sense  of  shame,  of  chivalry,  could  not  press  it  back. 
Cutty's  words  began  to  flow  into  one  ear  and  out  of 
the  other,  without  sense.  There  was  in  his  heart — 
put  there  by  the  recollection  of  the  jewels — an 
indescribable  bitterness,  a  desperate  cynicism  that 
urged  him  to  strike  out,  careless  of  friend  or  foe. 
Who  could  say  what  would  happen  to  him  when  he 
left  here?  A  flash  of  spring  madness,  then  to  go 
forth  devil-may-care. 

She  was  really  beautiful,  full  of  unsuspected  fire. 
To  fan  it  into  white  flame.  The  whole  affair  would 
depend  upon  whether  she  cared  for  music.  If  she 
did  he  would  pluck  the  soul  out  of  her.  She  had 
saved  his  life.  Well,  what  of  that?  He  had  broken 
yonder  man's  bread  and  eaten  his  salt.  Still,  what 
of  that?  Hadn't  he  come  from  a  race  of  scoundrels? 
The  blood — he  had  smothered  and  repressed  it  all  his 
life — to  unleash  it  once,  happen  what  might.  If  she 
were  really  fond  of  music! 

Once  again  Kitty's  glance  roved  back  to  Hawksley. 
This  time  she  encountered  a  concentration  in  his 
unwavering  stare.  She  did  not  quite  like  it-  Per- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  271 

haps  he  was  only  thinking  about  something  and 
wasn't  actually  seeing  her.  Still,  it  quieted  down 
(the  fluttering  gayety  of  her  mood.  There  was  a  sun 
spot  of  her  own  that  became  visible  whenever  her 
interest  in  Cutty's  monologue  lagged.  Perhaps 
Hawksley  had  his  sun  spot. 

"And  so,"  she  heard  Cutty  say,  "Mr.  Hawksley  is 
going  to  become  an  American  citizen.  Kitty,  what 
are  some  of  the  principles  of  good  citizenship?" 

"To  be  nice  to  policemen.  Not  to  meddle  with 
politics,  because  it  is  vulgar.  To  vote  perfunctorily. 
To  'let  George  do  it'  when  there  are  reforms  to  be 
brought  about.  To  keep  your  hat  on  when  the  flag 
goes  by  because  otherwise  you  will  attract  attention. 
To  find  fault  without  being  able  to  offer  remedies. 
,To  keep  in  debt  because  life  here  in  America  would  be 
monotonous  without  bill  collectors." 

Cutty  interrupted  with  a  laugh.  "Kitty,  you'll 
scare  Hawksley  off  the  map!" 

"Let  him  know  the  worst  at  once,"  retorted  Kitty, 
flashing  a  smile  at  the  victim. 

"Spoofing  me— what?"  said  Hawksley,  appealing 
to  his  host. 

This  quality  of  light  irony  in  a  woman  was  a 
distinct  novelty  to  Hawksley.  She  had  humour, 
then?  So  much  the  better.  An  added  zest  to  the 
game  he  was  planning.  He  recalled  now  that  she 
was  not  of  the  clinging  kind  either.  A  woman  with 
a  humorous  turn  of  mind  was  ten  times  more  elusive 


272  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

than  a  purely  sentimental  one.  Give  him  an  hour  or 
two  with  that  old  Amati — if  she  really  cared  for 
music!  She  would  be  coming  to  the  apartment 
again — some  afternoon,  when  his  host  was  out  of  the 
way.  Better  still,  he  would  call  her  by  telephone^ 
the  plea  of  loneliness.  Scoundrel?  Of  course  he 
was.  He  was  not  denying  that.  He  would  embark 
upon  this  affair  without  the  smug  varnish  of  self -lies. 
Fire — to  play  with  it! 

He  ate  his  portion  of  beefsteak,  potatoes,  and  toast, , 
and  emptied  his  coffee  cup.  It  was  really  the  first 
substantial  meal  he  had  had  in  many  hours.  A 
feeling  of  satisfaction  began  to  permeate  him.  He 
smiled  at  Miss  Frances,  who  shook  her  head  dubi- 
ously. She  could  not  quite  make  him  out  pathologic- 
ally. Perhaps  she  had  been  treating  him  as  shell- 
shocked  when  there  was  nothing  at  all  the  matter 
with  his  nerves. 

Presently  Kuroki  came  in  with  a  yellow  envelope, 
which  he  laid  at  the  side  of  Cutty's  plate. 

"  Telegrams ! "  exploded  Cutty.  "  Hang  it,  I  don't 
want  any  telegrams!" 

"Open  it  and  have  it  over  with,"  suggested  Kitty. 

"If  you  don't  mind." 

It  was  the  worst  kind  of  news — a  summons  to 
Washington  for  conference.  Which  signified  that 
the  Government's  plans  were  completed  and  that 
shortly  he  would  be  on  his  way  to  Piraeus. 

A  fine  muddle!     Hawksley  in  no  condition  to  send 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  273 

upon  his  way;  Kitty's  affair  unsettled;  the  emeralds 
still  in  camera  obscura;  Karlov  at  liberty  with  his 
infernal  schemes,  and  Stefani  Gregor  his  prisoner. 
Wild  horses,  pulling  him  two  ways.  A  word,  and 
Karlov  would  come  to  the  end  of  his  rope  suddenly. 
But  if  he  issued  that  word  the  whole  fabric  he  had 
erected  so  painstakingly  would  blow  away  like  card- 
board. If  those  emeralds  turned  up  in  the  possession 
of  any  man  but  himself  the  ensuing  complications 
would  be  appalling.  For  he  himself  would  be 
forced  to  tell  what  he  knew  about  the  stones;  Hawks- 
ley  would  be  thrust  conspicuously  into  the  limelight, 
and  sooner  or  later  some  wild  anarch  would  kill  him. 
Known,  Hawksley  would  not  have  one  chance  in  a 
thousand.  Kitty  would  be  dragged  into  the  light 
and  harassed  and  his  own  attitude  toward  her  mis- 
understood. All  these  things,  if  he  acted  upon  his 
oath.  Nevertheless,  he  determined  to  risk  sus- 
pension of  operations  until  he  returned  from  Wash- 
ington. There  was  one  sound  plank  to  cling  to.  He 
had  first-hand  information  that  anarchistic  elements 
would  remain  in  their  noisome  cellars  until  May  first. 
If  he  were  not  ordered  abroad  until  after  that,  no 
harm  would  follow  his  suspension  of  operations. 

"Bad  news?"  asked  Kitty,  anxiously. 

"Aggravating  rather  than  bad.  I  am  called  to 
Washington.  May  be  gone  four  or  five  days. 
Official  business.  Leaves  things  here  a  bit  in  the 
air." 


274  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"I'll  stay  as  long  as  you  need  me,"  said  Miss 
Frances. 

"I'd  rather  a  man  now.  You've  been  a  brick. 
You  need  rest.  I've  a  chap  in  mind.  He'll  make 
our  friend  here  toe  the  mark.  A  physical  instructor, 
ex-pugilist;  knows  all  about  broken  heads." 

"I  say,  that's  ripping!"  cried  Hawksley.  "Give 
me  your  man,  and  I'll  be  off  your  hands  within  a 
week.  The  sooner  you  stop  fussing  over  me  the 
sooner  the  crack  in  my  head  will  cease  to  bother 
me." 

"Kuroki  will  cook  for  you  and  Ryan  will  put  you 
through  the  necessary  stunts.  The  roof,  when  the 
weather  permits,  makes  a  good  exercising  ground. 
If  you'll  excuse  me  I'll  do  some  telephoning.  Kuroki, 
pack  my  bag  for  a  five-day  trip  to  Washington.  I'll 
take  you  down  to  the  office,  Kitty." 

"I  don't  fancy  I  ever  will  quite  understand  you," 
said  Hawksley,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  listlessly. 
"Honestly,  now,  you'd  be  perfectly  justified  in 
bundling  me  off  to  some  hotel.  I  have  funds.  Why 
all  this  pother  about  me?  " 

Cutty  smiled.  "When  I  tackle  anything  I  like  to 
carry  it  through.  I  want  to  put  you  on  your  train." 

"To  be  reasonably  sure  that  I  shan't  come  back?" 

"Precisely" — but  without  smiling.  With  a  vague 
yet  inclusive  nod  Cutty  hurried  off. 

"It  is  because  he  is  such  a  thorough  sportsman, 
Mr.  Hawksley,"  Kitty  explained.  "Having  accepted 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  275 

certain   obligations  he  cannot  abrogate  them  off- 
hand." 

"Did  I  bother  you  last  night?  I  mean,  did  my 
fiddling?" 

"Mercy,  no!  From  the  hurdy-gurdy  of  my  child- 
hood, down  to  Kubelik  and  his  successors,  I  have 
been  more  or  less  music-mad.  You  play — wonder- 
fully!" Sudden,  inexplicable  shyness. 

Hawksley  smiled.  An  hour  or  two  with  that  old 
Amati. 

"I  am  only  an  unconventional  amateur.  You 
should  hear  Stefani  Gregor  when  the  mood  is  on. 
He  puts  something  into  your  soul  that  makes  you 
wish  to  go  forth  at  once  to  do  some  fine,  unselfish 
act." 

Stefani  Gregor!  He  thought  of  the  clear  white 
soul  of  the  man  who  had  surrendered  imperishable 
fame  to  stand  between  him  and  the  curse  of  his  blood ; 
who  had  for  ten  years  stood  between  his  mother  and 
the  dissolute  man  whom  irony  had  selected  for  the 
part  of  father.  Ten  years  of  diplomacy,  tact, 
patience.  Stefani  Gregor!  There  was  the  blood, 
predatory  and  untamed;  and  there  was  the  spirit 
which  the  old  musician  had  moulded.  He  could  not 
harm  this  girl.  Dead  or  alive,  Stefani  Gregor  would 
not  permit  it. 

Hawksley  rose  slowly  and  without  further  speech 
walked  to  the  corridor  door.  He  leaned  against  the 
jamb  for  a  moment,  then  went  on  to  his  bedroom. 


276  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"I'm  afraid  that  breakfast  was  too  much  for  him," 
the  nurse  ventured.  "An  odd  young  man." 

"^ery,"  replied  Kitty,  rather  absently.  She  was 
trying  to  analyze  that  flash  of  shyness. 

Meantime,  Cutty  sat  down  before  the  telephone. 
He  wanted  Kitty  out  of  town  during  his  absence. 
In  her  present  excitable  mood  he  was  afraid  to  trust 
her.  She  might  surrender  to  any  mad  impulse  that 
stirred  her  fancy.  So  he  called  up  Burlingame, 
Kitty's  chief,  and  together  they  manufactured  an 
assignment  that  was  always  a  pleasant  recollection 
to  Kitty. 

Next,  Cutty  summoned  Professor  Billy  Ryan  to 
the  wire,  argued  and  cajoled  for  ten  minutes,  and  won 
his  point.  He  was  always  dealing  in  futures — bank- 
ing his  favours  here  and  there  and  drawing  checks 
against  them  when  needed. 

Then  he  tackled  his  men  and  issued  orders  sus- 
pending operations  temporarily.  He  was  asked  what 
they  should  do  in  case  Karlov  came  out  into  the  open. 
He  answered  in  such  an  event  not  to  molest  him  but 
to  watch  and  take  note  of  those  with  whom  he  asso- 
ciated. There  were  big  things  in  the  air,  and  only 
he  himself  had  hold  of  all  the  threads.  He  relayed 
this  information  to  the  actual  chief  of  the  local  ser- 
vice, from  whom  he  had  borrowed  his  men.  There 
was  no  protest.  Green  spectacles. 

Quarter  to  nine  he  and  Kitty  entered  a  subway  car 
and  found  a  corner  to  themselves,  while  Karlov's 


TTw.  Drums  of  Jeopardy  277 

agent  was  content  with  a  strap  in  the  crowded  end 
of  the  car. 

Karlov  for  once  had  outthought  Cutty.  He  had 
withdrawn  his  watchers,  confident  that  after  a  day 
or  so  his  unknown  opponent  would  withdraw  his. 
During  the  lull  Karlov  matured  his  plans,  then  re- 
sumed operations,  calculating  that  he  would  have 
some  forty -odd  hours'  leeway. 

His  agent  was  clever.  He  had  followed  Kitty 
from  Eightieth  Street  to  the  Knickerbocker  Hotel. 
There  he  had  lost  her.  He  had  loitered  on  the  side- 
walk until  midnight,  and  was  then  convinced  that  the 
girl  had  slipped  by.  So  he  had  returned  to  Eightieth 
Street;  but  as  late  as  five  in  the  morning  she  had  not 
returned. 

This  agent  had  foflowed  the  banker  after  his  visit 
to  Kitty.  He  had  watched  the  banker's  house,  seen 
Cutty  arrive  and  depart.  Taking  a  chance  shot  hi 
the  dark,  he  had  followed  Cutty  to  the  office  building, 
learned  that  Cutty  was  the  owner  and  lived  in  the 
loft.  As  Kitty  had  not  returned  home  by  five  he 
proceeded  to  take  a  second  chance  shot  in  the  dark, 
stationing  himself  across  the  street  from  the  entrance 
to  the  office  building,  thereby  solving  the  riddle  up- 
permost in  Karlov's  mind.  He  had  found  the  man 
in  the  dress  suit. 

"Cutty,  I'm  sorry  I  was  such  a  booby  last  night. 
But  it  was  the  best  thing  that  could  have  happened. 
The  pentupness  of  it  was  simply  killing  me.  I  hadn't 


278  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

any  one  to  come  to  but  you — any  one  who  would  un- 
derstand. I  don't  know  of  any  man  who  has  a  better 
right  to  kiss  me.  I  know.  You  were  just  trying  to 
buck  me  up." 

Glitter-clatter!  Glitter-clatter!  Cutty  stared 
hard  at  the  cement  floor.  Marry  her,  settle  a  sum 
on  her,  and  give  her  her  freedom.  Molly's  girl.  Give 
her  a  chance  to  play.  He  turned. 

"Kitty,  do  you  trust  me?" 

"Of  all  the  foolish  questions!"  She  pressed  his 
arm .  "  Why  shouldn't  I  trust  you  ? ' ' 

"Will  you  marry  me?  Wait!  Let  me  make  clear 
to  you  what  I  have  in  mind.  I'm  all  alone.  I 
loved  your  mother.  It  breaks  my  heart  that  while 
I  have  everything  in  the  way  of  luxuries  you  have 
nothing.  I  can't  settle  a  sum  on  you — an  income. 
The  world  wouldn't  understand.  Your  friends  would 
be  asking  questions  among  themselves.  This  tele- 
gram from  Washington  means  but  one  thing:  that 
in  a  few  weeks  I  shall  be  on  my  way  to  the  East.  I 
shall  be  mighty  unhappy  if  I  have  to  go  leaving  you 
in  the  rut.  This  is  my  idea:  marry  me  an  hour  or 
so  before  the  ship  sails.  I  will  leave  you  a  comfort- 
able income.  Lord  knows  how  long  I  shall  be  gone. 
Well,  I  won't  write.  After  a  year  you  can  regain 
your  freedom  on  the  grounds  of  desertion.  Simple 
as  falling  off  a  log.  It's  the  one  logical  way  I  can 
help  you.  Will  you?" 

Station  after  station  flashed  by.     Kitty  continued 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  279 

to  stare  through  the  window  across  the  way.  By 
and  by  she  turned  her  face  toward  him,  her  eyes 
shining  with  tears. 

"  Cutty,  there  is  going  to  be  a  nice  place  in  heaven 
for  you  some  day.  I  understand.  I  believe  Mother 
understands,  too.  Am  I  selfish?  I  can't  say  No  to 
you  and  I  can't  say  Yes.  Yet  I  should  be  a  liar  if 
I  did  not  say  that  everything  in  me  leaps  toward  the 
idea.  It  is  both  hateful  and  fascinating.  Common 
sense  says  Yes;  and  something  else  in  me  says  No. 
I  like  dainty  things,  dainty  surroundings.  I  want 
to  travel,  to  see  something  of  the  world.  I  once 
thought  I  had  creative  genius,  but  I  might  as  well 
face  the  fact  that  I  haven't.  Only  by  accident  will 
I  ever  earn  more  than  I'm  earning  now.  In  a  few 
years  I'll  grow  old  suddenly.  You  know  what  the 
newspaper  game  does  to  women.  The  rush  and 
hurry  of  it,  the  excitements,  the  ceaseless  change. 
It  is  a  furnace,  and  women  shrivel  up  in  it  quicker 
than  men." 

"There  won't  be  any  nonsense,  Batty.  An  hour 
before  I  go  aboard  my  ship.  I'll  go  back  to  the  job 
the  happiest  of  men.  Molly's  girl  taken  care  off 
Just  before  your  father  died  I  promised  him  I'd  keep 
an  eye  on  you.  I  never  forgot,  but  conditions  made 
it  impossible.  The  apartment  will  be  yours  as  long 
as  you  need  it.  Kuroki,  of  course,  goes  with  me.  It's 
merely  going  by  convention  on  the  blind  side.  To 
leave  you  something  in  my  will  wouldn't  serve  at  all. 


280  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

I'm  a  tough  old  codger  and  may  be  marked  down  for 
a  hale  old  ninety.  All  I  want  is  to  make  you  happy 
and  carefree." 

"Cutty,  I'd  like  to  curl  up  in  some  corner  and  cry, 
gratefully.  I  didn't  know  there  were  such  men.  I 
just  don't  know  what  to  do.  It  isn't  as  if  you  were 
asking  me  to  be  your  wife.  And  as  you  say,  I  can't 
accept  money.  There  is  a  pride  in  me  that  rejects 
the  whole  thing;  but  it  may  be  the  same  fool  pride 
that  has  cut  away  my  friends.  I  ought  to  fall  on 
your  neck  with  joy;  and  here  I  am  trying  to  look 
round  corners!  You  are  my  father's  friend,  my 
mother's,  mine.  Why  shouldn't  I  accept  the  propo- 
sition? You  are  alone,  too.  You  have  a  perfect 
right  to  do  as  you  please  with  your  money,  and  I 
have  an  equally  perfect  right  to  accept  your  gifts. 
We  are  all  afraid  of  the  world,  aren't  we?  That's 
probably  at  the  bottom  of  my  doddering.  Cutty, 
what  is  love?"  she  broke  off,  whimsically. 

"Looking  into  mirrors  and  hunting  for  specks," 
he  answered,  readily. 

"I  mean  seriously." 

"So  do  I.  Before  I  went  round  to  the  stage  en- 
trance to  take  your  mother  out  to  supper  I  used  to 
preen  an  hour  before  the  mirror.  My  collar,  my 
cravat,  my  hair,  the  nap  on  my  stovepipe,  my  gloves 
— terrible  things !  And  what  happened?  Your  dad, 
dressed  in  his  office  clothes,  came  along  like  a  cyclone, 
walked  all  over  my  toes,  and  swooped  up  your 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  281 

mother  right  from  under  my  nose.  Now  just  look 
the  proposition  over  from  all  angles.  Think  of 
yourself;  let  the  old  world  go  hang.  They'll  call  it 
alimony.  In  a  year  or  so  you'll  be  free;  and  some 
chap  like  Tommy  Conover  will  come  along,  and  bang! 
You'll  know  all  about  love.  Here's  old  Brooklyn 
Bridge.  I'll  see  you  to  the  elevator.  All  nonsense 
that  you  should  have  the  least  hesitance." 

Fifteen  minutes  later  he  was  striding  along  Park 
Row.  By  the  swing  of  his  stride  any  onlooker 
would  have  believed  that  Cutty  was  Sn  a  hurry  te 
arrive  somewhere.  Instead,  he  was  only  walking. 
Suddenly  he  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  sidewalk 
with  the  two  currents  of  pedestrians  flowing  on  each 
side  of  him,  as  a  man  might  stop  who  saw  some  won- 
derful cloud  effect.  But  there  was  nothing  ecstatical 
in  his  expression;  on  the  contrary,  there  was  a  species 
of  bewildered  terror.  The  psychology  of  all  his 
recent  actions  had  in  a  flash  become  vividly  clear. 

An  unbelievable  catastrophe  had  overtaken  him. 
He  loved  Kitty,  loved  her  with  an  intense,  shielding 
passion,  quite  unlike  that  which  he  had  given  her 
mother.  Such  a  thing  could  happen!  He  offered 
not  the  least  combat;  the  revelation  was  too  smash- 
ing to  admit  of  any  doubt.  It  was  not  a  recrudes- 
cence of  his  love  for  Molly,  stirred  into  action  by 
the  association  with  Molly's  daughter.  He  wanted 
Kitty  for  himself,  wanted  her  with  every  fibre  in 
his  body,  fiercely.  And  never  could  he  tell  her — now. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

The  tragic  irony  of  it  all  numbed  him.  Fate  hadn't 
played  the  game  fairly.  He  was  fifty-two,  on  the 
far  side  of  the  plateau,  near  sunset.  It  wasn't  a 
square  deal. 

Still  he  stood  there  on  the  sidewalk,  like  a  rock  in 
the  middle  of  a  turbulent  stream,  rejecting  selfish 
thoughts.  Marry  Kitty,  and  tell  her  the  truth  after- 
ward. He  knew  the  blood  of  her — loyalest  of  the 
loyal.  He  could  if  he  chose  play  that  sort  of  game — 
cheat  her.  He  could  not  withdraw  his  proposition. 
If  she  accepted  it  he  would  have  to  carry  it  through. 
Cheat  her. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

KITTY  hung  up  her  hat  and  coat.  She  did 
not  pat  her  hah*  or  tuck  in  the  loose  ends 
before  the  mirror — a  custom  as  invariable 
as  sunrise.  The  coat  tree  stood  at  the  right  of  the 
single  window,  and  out  of  this  window  Kitty  stared 
solemnly,  at  everything  and  at  nothing. 

Burlingame  eyed  her  seriously.  Cutty  had  given 
him  a  glimmer  of  the  tale — enough  to  make  known 
to  him  that  this  pretty,  sensible  girl,  through  no 
fault  of  her  own,  was  in  the  shadow  of  some  actual 
if  unknown  danger.  And  Cutty  wanted  her  out 
of  town  for  a  few  days.  Burlingame  had  intended 
sending  Kitty  out  of  town  on  an  assignment  during 
Easter  week.  An  exchange  of  telegrams  that  morn- 
ing had  closed  the  gap  in  time. 

"Well,  you  might  say  'Good  morning.' ' 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Burly ! "  In  newspaper  offices 
you  belong  at  once  or  you  never  belong;  and  to 
belong  is  to  have  your  name  sheared  to  as  few  sylla- 
bles as  possible.  You  are  formal  only  to  the  city 
editor,  the  managing  editor,  and  the  auditor. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"I've  been  set  in  the  middle  of  a  fairy  story," 
said  Kitty,  "and  I'm  wondering  if  it's  worth  the 

283 


£84  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

trouble  to  try  to  find  a  way  out.  A  Knight  of  the 
Round  Table,  a  prince  of  chivalry.  What  would 
you  say  if  you  saw  one  in  spats  and  a  black  derby?" 

"Why,"  answered  Burlingame,  "I  suppose  I'd 
consider  July  first  as  the  best  thing  that  could  hap- 
pen to  me." 

Kitty  laughed;  and  that  was  what  he  wanted. 

What  had  that  old  rogue  been  doing  now — offering 
Kitty  his  eighteen-story  office  building? 

"It's  odd,  isn't  it,  that  I  shouldn't  possess  a  little 
'"bistrionic  ability.  You'd  think  it  would  be  in  my 
blood  to  act." 

"It  is,  Kitty;  only  not  to  mimic.  You're  an 
actress,  but  the  Big  Dramatist  writes  your  business 
for  you.  Now,  I've  got  some  fairly  good  news  for 
you.  An  assignment." 

"Work!    What  is  it?" 

"I  am  going  to  send  you  on  a  visit  to  the  most 
charming  movie  queen  in  the  business.  She  is  going 
to  return  to  Broadway  this  autumn,  and  she  has  a 
trunkful  of  plays  to  read.  I  have  found  your  judg- 
ment ace-high.  Mornings  you  will  read  with  her; 
afternoons  you  will  visit.  She  remembers  your 
mother,  who  was  the  best  comedienne  of  her  day. 
So  she  will  be  quite  as  interested  in  you  as  you  are 
in  her.  I  want  you  to  note  her  ways,  how  she  amuses 
herself,  eats,  exercises.  I  want  you  to  note  the  con- 
tents of  her  beautiful  home;  if  she  likes  dogs  or  cats 
or  horses.  You  will  take  a_  camera  and  get  half  a 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  285 

dozen  good  pictures,  and  a  page  yarn  for  Easter 
Sunday.  Stay  as  long  as  she  wants  you  to." 

"But  who?" 

Burlingame  jerked  his  thumb  toward  a  photograph 
on  the  wall. 

"Oh!  This  will  be  the  most  scrumptious  event 
in  my  life.  I'm  wild  about  her!  But  I  haven't  any 
clothes!" 

Burlingame  waved  his  hands.  "I  knew  I'd  hear 
that  yodel.  Eve  didn't  have  anything  to  speak  of, 
but  she  travelled  a  lot.  Truth  is,  Kitty,  you'd  better 
dress  in  monotones.  She  might  wake  up  to  the  fact 
that  you're  a  mighty  pretty  young  woman  and  sud- 
denly become  temperamental.  She  has  a  husband 
round  the  lot  somewhere.  Make  him  think  his 
wife  is  a  lucky  woman.  Here's  all  the  dope — intro- 
duction, expenses,  and  tickets.  Train  leaves  at  two- 
fifty.  Run  along  home  and  pack.  Remember,  I 
want  a  page  yarn.  No  flapdoodle  or  mush;  straight 
stuff.  She  doesn't  need  any  advertising.  If  you 
go  at  it  right  you  two  will  react  upon  each  other  as  a 
tonic." 

Kitty  realized  that  this  little  junket  was  the  very 
thing  she  needed — open  spaces,  long  walks  in  which 
to  think  out  her  problem.  She  hurried  home  and 
spent  the  morning  packing.  When  this  heartrending 
business  was  over  she  summoned  Tony  Bernini. 

"I  am  going  out  of  town,  Mr.  Bernini.  I  may 
be  gone  a  week." 


286  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"All  right,  Miss  Conover."  Bernini  hid  a  smile, 
He  knew  all  about  this  trip,  having  been  advised  by 
Cutty  over  the  wire. 

"Am  I  being  followed  any  more?" 

"Not  that  we  know  of.  Still,  you  never  can  tell. 
What's  your  destination?"  Kitty  told  him.  "Bet- 
ter not  go  by  train.  I  can  get  a  fast  roadster  and  run 
you  out  in  a  couple  of  hours.  Right  after  lunch  you  go 
to  the  boss's  garage  and  wait  for  me.  I'll  take  care  of 
your  grips  and  camera.  I'll  follow  on  your  heels." 

"Anybody  would  consider  that  Karlov  was  after 
me  instead  of  Hawksley." 

Bernini  smiled.  "Miss  Conover,  the  moment 
Karlov  puts  his  hands  on  you  the  whole  game  goes 
blooey.  That's  the  plain  fact.  There  is  death  in 
this  game.  These  madmen  expect  to  blow  up  the 
United  States  on  May  first.  We  are  easing  them 
along  because  we  want  the  top  men  in  our  net.  But 
if  Karlov  takes  it  into  his  head  to  get  you,  and  suc- 
ceeds, he'll  have  a  stranglehold  on  the  whole  local 
service;  because  we'd  have  to  make  great  concessions 
to  free  you." 

"Why  wasn't  I  told  this  at  the  start?" 

"You  were  told,  indirectly.  We  did  not  care  to 
frighten  you." 

"I'm  not  frightened,"  said  Kitty. 

"Nope.  But  we  wish  to  the  Lord  you  were,  Miss 
Conover.  When  you  want  to  come  home,  wire  me 
and  I'll  motor  out  for  you." 


- .  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  287 

Another  fragment.  Karlov's  agent  sought  his 
chief  and  found  him  in  the  cellar  of  the  old  house, 
sinisterly  engaged.  The  wall  bench  was  littered  with 
paraphernalia  well  known  to  certain  chemists.  Had 
the  New  York  bomb  squad  known  of  the  existence  of 
this  den,  the  short  hair  on  their  necks  would  have 
risen. 

"Well?"  greeted  Karlov,  moodily. 

"I  have  found  the  man  in  the  dress  suit.'* 

"Ah!" 

"He  and  the  Conover  girl  left  that  office  building 
together  this  morning,  and  I  followed  them  to  Park 
Row.  This  man  uses  the  loft  of  the  building  for  his 
home.  No  elevator  goes  up  unless  you  have  creden- 
tials. Our  man  is  hiding  there,  Boris." 

Karlov  dry- washed  his  hands.  "We'll  send  him 
one  of  the  samples  if  we  fail  in  regard  to  the  girl. 
You  say  she  arrives  daily  at  the  newspaper  office 
about  nine  and  leaves  between  five  and  six?" 

"Every  day  but  Sunday." 

"Good  news.  Two  bolts;  one  or  the  other  will  go 
home." 

About  the  same  time  in  Cutty's  apartment  rather 
an  amusing  comedy  took  place.  Professor  Ryan, 
late  physical  instructor  at  one  of  the  aviation  camps, 
stood  Hawksley  in  front  of  him  and  ran  his  hard  hands 
over  the  young  man's  body.  Miss  Frances  stood  at 
one  side,  her  %rms  folded,  her  expression  skeptical. 


288  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Nothin*  the  matter  with  you,  Bo,  but  the  crack 
on  the  conk.'* 

"Right-o!"  agreed  Hawksley. 

"Lemme  see  your  hands.  Humph.  Soft.  Now 
stand  on  that  threshold.  That's  it.  Walk  t'  th' 
end  o'  the  hall  an*  back.  Step  lively." 

"But "  began  Miss  Frances  in  protest.  This 

was  cruelty. 

"I'm  the  doctor,  miss,"  interrupted  Ryan,  crisply. 
"If  he  falls  down  he  goes  t'  bed,  an'  you  stay.  If 
he  makes  it,  he  follows  my  instructions." 

When  Hawksley  returned  to  the  starting  line  the 
walls  rocked,  there  were  two  or  three  blinding  stabs 
of  pain;  but  he  faced  this  unusual  Irishman  with 
never  a  hint  of  the  torture.  A  wild  longing  to  be 
gone  from  this  kindly  prison — to  get  away  from  the 
thought  of  the  girl. 

"All  right,"  said  Ryan.  "Now  toddle  back  t' 
bed." 

"Bed?" 

"Yep.  Goin*  t'  give  you  a  rub  that'll  start  all 
your  machinery  workin'." 

Docilely  Hawksley  obeyed.  He  wasn't  going  to 
let  them  know,  but  that  bed  was  going  to  be  tolerably 
welcome. 

"Well!"  said  Miss  Frances.  "I  don't  see  how  he 
did  it." 

"I  do,"  said  the  ex-pugilist.  "I  told  him  to. 
Either  he  was  a  false  alarm,  or  he'd  attempt  the  job 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  289 

even  if  he  fell  down.  The  hull  thing  is  this :  Make  a 
guy  wanta  get  well  an'  he'll  get  well.  If  he's  got  any 
pride,  dig  it  up.  Go  after  'em.  He  hasn't  lost  any 
blood.  No  serious  body  wound.  A  crack  on  the 
conk.  It  mighta  killed  him.  It  didn't.  He  didn't 
wabble  an'  fall  down.  So  my  dope  is  right.  Drop 
in  in  a  few  days  an'  I'll  show  yuh." 

Miss  Frances  held  out  her  hand.  "You've  han- 
dled men,"  she  said,  with  reluctant  admiration. 

"Oh,  boy! — millions  of  'em,  an'  each  guy  differ- 
ent. Believe  me!  Make  'em  wanta." 

Cutty  attended  his  conferences.  He  learned  im- 
mediately that  he  was  booked  to  sail  the  first  week 
in  May.  His  itinerary  began  at  Piraeus,  in  Greece, 
and  might  end  in  Vladivostok.  But  they  detained 
him  in  Washington  overtime  because  he  was  a  fount 
of  information  the  departments  found  it  necessary 
to  draw  upon  constantly.  The  political  and  com- 
mercial aspects  of  the  polyglot  peoples,  what  they 
wanted,  what  they  expected,  what  they  needed; 
racial  enmities.  The  bugaboo  of  the  undesirable 
alien  was  no  longer  bothering  official  heads  in  Wash- 
ington. Stringent  immigration  laws  were  in  the 
making.  What  they  wanted  to  know  was  an  Amer- 
ican's point  of  view,  based  upon  long  and  intimate 
associations. 

Washington  reminded  him  of  nothing  so  much  as  a 
big  sheep  dog.  The  hazardous  day  was  over;  the 
wolves  had  been  driven  off  and  the  sheep  into  the 


290  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

fold;  and  now  the  valiant  guardian  was  turning 
round  and  round  and  round  preparatory  to  lying 
down  to  sleep.  For  Washington  would  go  to  sleep 
again,  naturally. 

Often  it  occurred  to  him  what  a  remarkable  piece 
of  machinery  the  human  brain  was.  He  could  dig 
up  all  this  dry  information  with  the  precise  accuracy 
of  an  economist,  all  the  while  his  actual  thoughts 
upon  Kitty.  His  nights  were  nightmares.  And 
all  this  unhappiness  because  he  had  been  touched 
with  the  lust  for  loot.  Fundamentally,  this  catas- 
trophe could  be  laid  to  the  drums  of  jeopardy. 

The  alluring  possibility  of  finding  those  damnable 
green  stones — the  unsuspected  kink  in  his  moral 
rectitude — had  tumbled  him  into  this  pit.  Had  not 
Kitty  pronounced  the  name  Stefani  Gregor — in  his 
mind  always  linked  with  the  emeralds — he  would 
have  summoned  an  ambulance  and  had  Hawksley 
carried  off,  despite  Kitty's  protests;  and  perhaps 
he  would  have  seen  her  but  two  or  three  times  before 
sailing,  seen  her  in  conventional  and  unemotional 
parts.  At  any  rate,  there  would  have  been  none  of 
this  peculiar  intimacy — Kitty  coming  to  him  in 
tears,  opening  her  young  heart  to  him  and  discover- 
ing all  its  loneliness.  If  she  loved  some  chap  it 
would  not  be  so  hard,  the  temptation  would  not  be 
so  keen — to  cheat  her.  Marry  her,  and  then  tell 
her.  This  dogged  his  thoughts  like  a  murderer's 
deed,  terrible  in  the  watches  of  the  night.  Marry 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  291 

her,  and  then  tell  her.     Cheat  her.     Break  her  heart 
and  break  his  own. 

Fifty-two.  Never  before  had  he  thought  old. 
His  splendid  health  and  vigorous  mentality  were  the 
results  of  thinking  young.  But  now  he  heard  the 
avalanche  stirring,  the  whispering  slither  of  the 
first  pebbles.  He  would  grow  old  swiftly,  thunder- 
ously. Kitty's  youth  would  shore  up  the  debacle, 
suspend  it  indefinitely.  Marry  her,  cheat  her,  and 
stay  young.  Green  stones,  accursed. 

Kitty's  days  were  pleasant  enough,  but  her  nights 
were  sieges.  One  evening  someone  put  Elman's 
rendition  of  Schubert's  "Ave  Maria"  on  the  phono- 
graph. Long  after  it  was  over  she  sat  motionless 
in  her  chair.  Echoes.  The  Tschaikowsky  waltz. 
She  got  up  suddenly,  excused  herself,  and  went  to  her 
room. 

Six  days,  and  her  problem  was  still  unsolved. 
Something  in  her — she  could  not  define  it,  she  could 
not  reach  it,  it  defied  analysis — something,  then, 
revolted  at  the  idea  of  marrying  Cutty,  divorcing 
him,  and  living  on  his  money.  There  was  a  touch 
of  horror  in  the  suggestion.  It  was  tearing  her  to 
pieces,  this  hidden  repellence.  And  yet  this  occult 
objection  was  so  utterly  absurd.  If  he  died  and  left 
her  a  legacy  she  would  accept  it  gratefully  enough. 
Cutty's  plan  was  only  a  method  of  circumventing 
this  indefinite  wait. 

Comforts,  the  good  things  of  life,  amusements— 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

simply  by  nodding  her  head.  Why  not?  It  wasn't 
as  if  Cutty  was  asking  her  to  be  his  wife;  he  wasn't. 
Just  wanted  to  dodge  convention,  and  give  her  free- 
dom and  happiness.  He  was  only  giving  her  a  mite 
out  of  his  income.  Because  he  had  loved  her  mother; 
because,  but  for  an  accident  of  chance,  she,  Kitty, 
might  have  been  his  daughter.  Why,  then,  this 
persistent  and  unaccountable  revulsion?  Why  should 
she  hesitate?  The  ancient  female  fear  of  the  trap? 
That  could  not  be  it.  For  a  more  honourable,  a 
more  lovable  man  did  not  walk  the  earth.  Brave, 
strong,  handsome,  whimsical — why,  Cutty  was  a 
catch! 

Comfy.  Never  any  of  that  inherent  doubt  of  man 
when  she  was  with  him.  Absolute  trust.  An  evil 
thought  had  entered  her  head;  fate  had  made  it 
honourably  possible.  And  still  this  mysterious  re- 
pellence. 

Romance?  She  was  not  surrendering  her  right 
to  that.  What  was  a  year  out  of  her  life  if  afterward 
she  would  be  in  comfortable  circumstances,  free  to 
love  where  she  willed?  She  wasn't  cheating  herself 
or  Cutty:  she  was  cheating  convention,  a  flimsy 
thing  at  best. 

Windows.  We  carry  our  troubles  to  our  windows; 
through  windows  we  see  the  stars.  We  cannot 
visualize  God,  but  we  can  see  His  stars  pinned  to  the 
immeasurable  spaces.  So  Kitty  sought  her  window 
and  added  her  question  to  the  countless  millions 


The  Drums  of  Jaoperdy  293 

forlornly  wandering  about  up  there,  and  finding  no 
answer. 

But  she  would  return  to  New  York  on  the  morrow. 
She  would  not  summon  Bernini  as  she  had  promised. 
She  would  go  back  by  train,  alone,  unhampered. 

And  in  his  cellar  Boris  Karlov  spun  his  web  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

HAWKSLEY  heard  the  lift  door  close,  and  he 
knew  that  at  last  he  was  alone.  He  flung 
out  his  arms,  ecstatically.  Free!  He  would 
see  no  more  of  that  nagging  beggar  Ryan  until  to- 
morrow. Free  to  put  into  execution  the  idea  that 
had  been  bubbling  all  day  long  in  his  head,  like  a  fine 
champagne,  firing  his  blood  with  reckless  whimsicality. 

Quietly  he  stole  down  the  corridor.  Through 
a  crack  in  the  kitchen  door  he  saw  Kuroki's  back,  the 
attitude  of  which  was  satisfying.  It  signified  that 
the  Jap  was  pegging  away  at  his  endless  studies  and 
that  only  the  banging  of  the  gong  would  rouse  him. 
The  way  was  as  broad  and  clear  as  a  street  at  dawn. 
Not  that  Kuroki  mattered;  only  so  long  as  he  did 
not  know,  so  much  the  better. 

With  careful  step  Hawksley  manoeuvred  his  re- 
treat so  that  it  brought  him  to  Cutty's  bedroom  door. 
The  door  was  unlocked.  He  entered  the  room. 
What  a  lark!  They  would  hide  his  own  clothes;  so 
much  the  worse  for  the  old  beggar's  wardrobe.  Street 
clothes.  Presently  he  found  a  dark  suit,  commend- 
able not  so  much  for  its  style  as  for  the  fact  that  it 
was  the  nearest  fit  he  could  find.  He  had  to  roll  up 
the  trouser  hems. 

204 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  295 

Hats.  Chuckling  like  a  boy  rummaging  a  jam 
closet,  he  rifled  the  shelves  and  pulled  down  a  black 
derby  of  an  unknown  vintage.  Large;  but  a  runner 
of  folded  paper  reduced  the  size.  As  he  pressed  the 
relic  firmly  down  on  his  head  he  winced.  A  stab 
over  his  eyes.  He  waited  doubtfully;  but  there  was 
no  recurrence.  Fit  as  a  fiddle.  Of  course  he  could 
not  stoop  without  a  flash  of  vertigo;  but  on  his  feet 
he  was  top-hole.  He  was  gaining  every  day. 

Luck.  He  might  have  come  out  of  it  with  the 
blank  mind  of  a  newborn  babe;  and  here  he  was,  keen 
to  resume  his  adventures.  Luck.  They  had  not 
stopped  to  see  if  he  was  actually  dead.  Some 
passer-by  in  the  hall  had  probably  alarmed  them. 
That  handkerchief  had  carried  him  round  the  brink. 
Perhaps  Fate  intended  letting  him  get  through- 
written  on  his  pass  an  extension  of  his  leave  of  ab- 
sence. Or  she  had  some  new  torture  in  reserve. 

Now  for  a  stout  walking  stick.  He  selected  a 
blackthorn,  twirled  it,  saluted,  and  posed  before  the 
mirror.  Not  so  bally  rotten.  He  would  pass.  Next, 
he  remembered  that  there  were  some  flowers  in  the 
dining  room — window  boxes  with  scarlet  geraniums. 
He  broke  off  a  sprig  and  drew  it  through  his  button- 
hole. 

Outside  there  was  a  cold,  pale  April  sky,  presaging 
wind  and  rain.  Unimportant.  He  was  going  down 
into  the  streets  for  an  hour  or  so.  The  colour  and 
action  of  a  crowded  street;  the  lure  was  irresistible. 


296  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Who  would  dare  touch  him  in  the  crowd?     These 
rooms  had  suddenly  become  intolerable. 

He  leaned  against  the  side  of  the  window.  Roofs, 
thousands  of  them,  flat,  domed,  pinnacled;  and 
somewhere  under  one  of  these  roofs  Stefani  Gregor 
was  eating  his  heart  out.  It  did  not  matter  that  this 
queer  old  eagle  whom  everybody  called  Cutty  had 
promised  to  bring  Stefani  home.  It  might  be  too 
late.  Stefani  was  old,  highly  strung.  Who  knew 
what  infernal  lies  Karlov  had  told  him?  Stefani 
could  stand  up  under  physical  torture;  but  to  tear 
at  his  soul,  to  twist  and  rend  his  spirit! 

The  bubble  in  the  champagne  died  down — as  it 
always  will  if  one  permits  it  to  stand.  He  felt  the 
old  mood  seep  through  the  dikes  of  his  gayety. 
Alone.  A  familiar  face — he  would  have  dropped  on 
his  knees  and  thanked  God  for  the  sight  of  a  familiar 
face.  These  people,  kindly  as  they  were — what 
were  they  but  strangers?  Yesterday  he  had  not 
known  them;  to-morrow  he  would  leave  them  be- 
hind forever.  All  at  once  the  mystery  of  this  bub- 
bling idea  was  bared:  he  was  going  to  risk  his  life  in 
the  streets  in  the  vague  hope  of  seeing  some  face  he 
had  known  in  the  days  before  the  world  had  gone 
drunk  on  blood.  One  familiar  face. 

Of  course  he  would  never  forget — at  any  rate,  not 
the  girl  whose  courage  had  made  possible  this  hour. 
Those  chaps,  scared  off  temporarily,  might  have 
returned.  What  had  become  of  her?  He  was  al" 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  297 

ways  seeing  her  lovely  face  in  the  shadows,  now 
tender,  now  resolute,  now  mocking.  Doubtless  he 
thought  of  her  constantly  because  his  freedom  of 
action  was  limited.  He  hadn't  diversion  enough. 
Books  and  fiddling,  these  carried  him  but  halfway 
through  the  boredom.  Where  was  she?  Daily  he 
had  called  her  by  telephone;  no  answer.  The  Jap 
shook  his  head;  the  slangy  boy  in  the  hit  shook  his. 

She  was  a  thoroughbred,  even  if  she  had  been  born 
of  middle -class  parentage.  He  laughed  bitterly. 
Middle  class.  A  homeless,  countryless  derelict,  and 
he  had  the  impudence  to  revert  to  comparisons  that 
no  longer  existed  in  this  topsy-turvy  old  world.  He 
was  an  upstart.  The  final  curtain  had  dropped 
between  him  and  his  world,  and  he  was  still  thinking 
in  the  ancient  make-up.  Middle  class!  He  was 
no  better  than  a  troglodyte,  set  down  in  a  new 
wilderness. 

He  heard  the  curtain  rings  slither  on  the  pole.  Be- 
lieving the  intruder  to  be  Kuroki  he  turned  bel- 
ligerently. And  there  she  stood— the  girl  herself! 
The  poise  of  her  reminded  him  of  the  Winged  Victory 
in  the  Louvre.  Where  there  had  been  a  cup  of 
champagne  in  his  veins  circumstance  now  poured  a 
magnum. 

"You!"  he  cried. 

"What  has  happened?  Where  are  you  going  in 
those  clothes?"  demanded  Kitty. 

"I  am  running  away— for  an  hour  or  so." 


298  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"But  you  must  not!  The  risks — after  all  the 
trouble  we've  had  to  help  you!" 

"I  shall  be  perfectly  safe,  for  you  are  going  with 
me.  Aren't  you  my  guardian  angel?  Well,  rather! 
The  two  of  us — people,  lights,  shop  windows!  Pea, 
fectly  splendiferous!  Honestly,  now,  where's  the 
harm?"  He  approached  her  rapidly  as  he  spoke, 
and  before  the  spell  of  him  could  be  shaken  off  Kitty 
found  her  hands  imprisoned  in  his.  "Please!  I've 
been  so  damnably  bored.  The  two  of  us  in  the 
streets,  among  the  crowds!  No  one  will  dare  touch 
us.  Can't  you  see?  And  then — I  say,  this  is  rip- 
ping!— we'll  have  dinner  together  here.  I  will  play 
for  you  on  the  old  Amati.  Please!" 

The  fire  of  him  communicated  to  the  combustibles 
in  Kitty's  soul.  A  wild,  reckless  irony  besieged  her. 
This  adventure  would  be  exactly  what  she  needed; 
it  would  sweep  clear  the  fog  separating  one  side  of  her 
brain  from  the  other.  For  it  was  plain  enough  that 
part  of  her  brain  refused  to  cooperate  with  the  other. 
A  break  in  the  trend  of  thought:  she  might  succeed 
in  getting  hold  of  the  puzzle  if  she  could  drop  it 
absolutely  for  a  little  while  and  then  pick  it  up  again. 

She  had  not  gone  home.  She  had  not  notified 
Bernini.  She  had  checked  her  luggage  in  the  station 
parcel  room  and  come  directly  here.  For  what?  To 
let  the  sense  of  luxury  overcome  the  hidden  repug- 
nance of  the  idea  of  marrying  Cutty,  divorcing  him, 
and  living  on  his  money.  To  put  herself  in  the  way 


Tlie  Drums  of  Jeopardy  299 

of  visible  temptation.  What  fretted  her  so,  what  was 
wearing  her  down  to  the  point  of  fatigue,  was  the 
patent  imbecility  of  her  reluctance.  There  would 
have  been  some  sense  of  it  if  Cutty  had  proposed  a 
real  marriage.  All  she  had  to  do  was  mumble  a  few 
words,  sign  her  name  to  a  document,  live  out  West 
for  a  few  months,  and  be  in  comfortable  circumstances 
all  the  rest  of  her  life.  And  she  doddered! 

She  would  run  the  streets  with  Johnny  Two- 
Hawks,  return,  and  dine  with  him.  Who  cared? 
Proper  or  improper,  whose  business  was  it  but  Kitty 
Conover's?  Danger?  That  was  the  peculiar  at- 
traction. She  wanted  to  rush  into  danger,  some 
tense  excitement  the  strain  of  which  would  lift  her 
out  of  her  mood.  A  recurrent  touch  of  the  wild 
impulsiveness  of  her  childhood.  Hadn't  she  some- 
times flown  out  into  thunderstorms,  after  merited 
punishment,  to  punish  the  mother  whom  thunder 
terrorized?  And  now  she  was  going  to  rush  into  un- 
known danger  to  punish  Fate — like  a  silly  child! 
Nevertheless,  she  would  go  into  the  streets  with 
Johnny  Two-Hawks. 

"But  are  you  strong  enough  to  venture  on  the 
streets?" 

"Rot!  Dash  it  all,  I'm  no  mollycoddle!  All 
nonsense  to  keep  me  pinned  in  like  this.  Will  you 
go  with  me — be  my  guide?" 

"Yes!"  She  shot  out  the  word  and  crossed  the 
Rubicon  before  reason  could  begin  to  lecture.  Be- 


300  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

sides,  wasn't  reason  treating  her  shabbily  hi  with- 
holding the  key  to  the  riddle?  "  Johnny  Two-Hawks, 
I  will  go  as  far  as  Harlem  if  you  want  me  to." 

"Johnny  Two-Hawks!"  He  laughed  joyously, 
then  kissed  her  hands.  But  he  had  to  pay  for  this 
bending — a  stab  that  filled  his  eyes  with  flying 
sparks.  He  must  remember,  once  out  of  doors,  not 
to  stoop  quickly.  "I  say,  you're  the  jolliest  girl  I 
ever  met!  Just  the  two  of  us,  what?" 

"The  way  you  speak  English  is  wonderful!" 

"  Simple  enough  to  explain.  Had  an  English  nurse 
from  the  beginning.  Spoke  English  and  Italian 
before  I  spoke  Russian." 

He  seized  the  wooden  mallet  and  beat  the  Burmese 
gong — a  flat  piece  of  brass  cut  in  the  shape  of  a  bell. 
The  clear,  whirring  vibrations  filled  the  room.  Long 
before  these  spent  themselves  Kuroki  appeared  on 
the  threshold.  He  bobbed. 

"Kuroki,  Miss  Conover  is  dining  here  with  me 
to-night.  Seven  o'clock  sharp.  The  best  you  have 
in  the  larder." 

"Yes,  sair.     You  are  going  out,  sair?" 

"For  a  bit  of  fresh  air." 

"And  I  am  going  with  him,  Kuroki,"  said  Kitty. 

Kuroki  bobbed  again.  "Dinner  at  seven,  sair." 
Another  bob,  and  he  returned  to  the  kitchen,  smiling. 
The  girl  was  free  to  come  and  go,  of  couuse,  but  the 
ancient  enemy  of  Nippon  would  not  pass  the  elevator 
door.  Let  him  find  that  out  for  himself. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  301 

When  the  elevator  arrived  the  boy  did  not  open 
the  door.  He  noted  the  derby  on  Hawksley's  head. 

"I  can  take  you  down,  Miss  Conover,  but  I  can- 
not take  Mr.  Hawksley.  When  the  boss  gives  me 
an  order  I  obey  it — if  I  possibly  can.  On  the  day 
the  boss  tells  me  you  can  go  strolling,  I'll  give  you  the 
key  to  the  city.  Until  then,  nix!  No  use  arguing, 
Mr.  Hawksley." 

"I  shan't  argue,"  replied  Hawksley,  meekly.  "I 
am  really  a  prisoner,  then?" 

"For  your  own  good,  sir.  Do  you  wish  to  go 
down,  Miss  Conover?" 

"No." 

The  boy  swung  the  lever,  and  the  car  dropped  from 
sight. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Kitty. 

Hawksley  smiled  and  laid  a  finger  on  his  lips.  "I 
wanted  to  know,"  he  whispered.  "There's  another 
way  down  from  this  Matterhorn.  Come  with  me. 
Off  the  living  room  is  a  storeroom.  I  found  the  key 
in  the  lock  the  other  day  and  investigated.  I  still 
have  the  key.  Now,  then,  there's  a  door  that  gives 
to  the  main  loft.  At  the  other  end  is  the  stairhead. 
There  is  a  door  at  the  foot  of  the  first  flight  down. 
We  can  jolly  well  leave  this  way,  but  we  shall  have 
to  return  by  the  lift.  That  bally  young  ruffian 
can't  refuse  to  carry  us  up,  y'  know!' 

Kitty  laughed.     "  This  is  going  to  be  fun ! " 

"Rather!" 


302  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

They  groped  their  way  through  the  dim  loft — for 
it  was  growing  dark  outside — and  made  the  stair- 
head. The  door  to  the  seventeenth  floor  opened, 
and  they  stepped  forth  into  the  lighted  hallway. 

"Now  what?"  asked  Kitty,  bubbling. 

"The  floor  below,  and  one  of  the  other  lifts,  what?" 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  two  of  them,  arm  in 
arm,  turned  into  Broadway. 

"This,  sir,"  began  Kitty  with  a  gesture,  "is  Broad- 
way— America's  backyard  in  the  daytime  and  Ali 
Baba's  cave  at  night.  The  way  of  the  gilded  youth; 
the  funnel  for  papa's  money;  the  chorus  lady;  the 
starting  point  of  the  high  cost  of  living.  We  New 
Yorkers  despise  it  because  we  can't  afford  it." 

"The  lights!"  gasped  Hawksley. 

"Wreckers'  lights.  Behold!  Yonder  is  a  highly 
nutritious  whisky  blinking  its  bloomin'  farewell. 
Do  you  chew  gum?  Even  if  you  don't,  in  a  few 
minutes  I'll  give  you  a  cud  for  thought.  Chewing 
gum  was  invented  by  a  man  with  a  talkative  wife. 
He  missed  the  physiological  point,  however,  that  a 
body  can  chew  and  talk  at  the  same  time.  Come 
on!" 

They  went  on  uptown,  Hawksley  highly  amused, 
exhilarated,  but  frequently  puzzled.  The  pungent 
irony  of  her  observations  conveyed  to  him  that 
under  this  gayety  was  a  current  of  extreme  bitterness. 

"I  say,  are  all  American  girls  like  you?" 

"Heavens,  no)    Why?" 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  303 

"  Because  I  never  met  one  like  you  before.  Rather 
stilted — on  their  good  behaviour,  I  fancy." 

"And  I  interest  you  because  I'm  not  on  my  good 
behaviour?"  Kitty  whipped  back. 

"Because  you  are  as  God  made  you — without 
camouflage." 

"The  poor  innocent  young  man !  I'm  nothing  but 
camouflage  to-night.  Why  are  you  risking  your 
life  in  the  street?  Why  am  I  sharing  that  risk? 
Because  we  both  feel  bound  and  are  blindly  trying 
to  break  through.  What  do  you  know  about  me? 
Nothing.  What  do  I  know  about  you?  Nothing. 
But  what  do  we  care?  Come  on,  come  on!" 

Tumpitum — tump!  tumpitum — tump!  drummed 
the  Elevated.  Kitty  laughed.  The  tocsin!  Al- 
ways something  happened  when  she  heard  it. 

"Pearls!"  she  cried,  dragging  him  toward  a 
jeweller's  window. 

"No!"  he  said,  holding  back.  "I  hate— jewels! 
How  I  hate  them!"  He  broke  away  from  her  and 
hurried  on. 

She  had  to  run  after  him.  Had  she  hesitated  they 
might  have  become  separated.  Hated  jewels?  No, 
no !  There  should  be  no  questions,  verbal  or  mental, 
this  night.  She  presently  forced  him  to  slow  down. 

"  Not  so  fast !  We  must  never  become  separated," 
she  warned.  "Our  safety— such  as  it  is— lies  in 
being  together." 

"I'm  an  ass.     Perhaps  my  head  is  ratty  without 


304  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

my  realizing  it.  I  fancy  I'm  like  a  dog  that's  been 
kicked;  I'm  trying  to  run  away  from  the  pain. 
What's  this  tomb?" 

"  The  Metropolitan  Opera  House." 

As  they  were  passing  a  thin,  wailing  sound  came 
to  the  ears  of  both.  Seated  with  his  back  to  the  wall 
was  a  blind  fiddler  with  a  tin  cup  strapped  to  a  knee. 
He  was  out  of  bounds;  he  had  no  right  on  Broadway; 
but  he  possessed  a  singular  advantage  over  the  law. 
He  could  not  be  forced  to  move  on  without  his 
guide — if  he  were  honestly  blind.  Hundreds  of 
people  were  passing;  but  the  fiddler's  "Last  Rose 
of  Summer"  wasn't  worth  a  cent.  His  cup  was 
empty. 

"The  poor  thing!"  said  Kitty. 

"Wait!"  Hawksley  approached  the  fiddler,  ex- 
changed a  few  words  with  him,  and  the  blind  man 
surrendered  his  fiddle. 

"Give  me  your  hat!"  cried  Kitty,  delighted. 

Carefully  Hawksley  pried  loose  his  derby  and 
handed  it  to  Kitty.  No  stab  of  pain;  something  to 
find  that  out.  He  turned  the  instrument,  tucked  it 
under  his  chin  and  began  "Traumerei."  Kitty,  smil- 
ing, extended  the  hat.  Just  the  sort  of  interlude  to 
make  the  adventure  memorable.  She  knew  this 
thoroughfare.  Shortly  there  would  be  a  crowd,  and 
the  fiddler's  cup  would  overflow — that  is,  if  the 
police  did  not  interfere  too  soon. 

As  for  the  owner  of  the  wretched  fiddle,  he  raised 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  305 

his  head,  his  mouth  opened.     Up  there,  somewhere,  a 
door  to  heaven  had  opened. 

True  to  her  expectations  a  crowd  slowly  gathered. 
The  beauty  of  the  girl  and  the  dark,  handsome  face 
of  the  musician,  his  picturesque  bare  head,  were 
sufficient  for  these  cynical  passers-by.  They  under- 
stood. Operatic  celebrities,  having  a  little  fun  on 
their  own.  So  quarters  and  dimes  and  nickels  began 
to  patter  into  Cutty's  ancient  derby  hat.  Broadway 
will  always  contribute  generously  toward  a  novelty  of 
this  order.  Famous  names  were  tossed  about  in 
undertones. 

Entered  then  the  enemy  of  the  proletariat.  Kitty, 
being  a  New  Yorker  born,  had  had  her  weather  eye 
roving.  The  brass-buttoned  minion  of  the  law  was 
always  around  when  a  bit  of  innocent  fun  was  going 
on.  As  the  policeman  reached  the  inner  rim  of  the 
audience  the  last  notes  of  Handel's  "Largo"  were 
fading  on  the  ear. 

"What's  this?"  demanded  the  policeman. 

"It's  all  over,  sir,"  answered  Kitty,  smiling. 

"Can't  have  this  on  Broadway,  miss.  Obstruc- 
tion." He  could  not  speak  gruffly  in  the  face  of  such 
beauty — especially  with  a  Broadway  crowd  at  his 
back. 

"It's  all  over.  Just  let  me  put  this  money  in  the 
blind  man's  cup."  Kitty  poured  her  coins  into  the 
receptacle.  At  the  same  time  Hawksley  laid  the 
fiddle  in  the  blind  man's  lap.  Then  he  turned  to 


306  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Kitty  and  boomed  a  long  Russian  phrase  at  her.  Her 
quick  wit  caught  the  intent.  "You  see,  he  doesn't 
understand  that  this  cannot  be  done  in  New  York. 
I  couldn't  explain." 

"All  right,  miss;  but  don't  do  it  again."  The 
policeman  grinned. 

"And  please  don't  be  harsh  with  the  blind  man. 
Just  tell  him  he  mustn't  play  on  Broadway  again. 
Thank  you!' 

She  linked  her  arm  in  Hawksley's,  and  they  went 
on;  and  the  crowd  dissolved;  only  the  policeman 
and  the  blind  man  remained,  the  one  contemplating 
his  duty  and  the  other  his  vision  of  heaven. 

"What  a  lark!"  exclaimed  Hawksley. 

"Were  you  asking  me  for  your  hat?" 

"I  was  telling  the  bobby  to  go  to  the  devil!" 

They  laughed  like  children. 

"March  hares!"  he  said. 

"No.  April  fools!  Good  heavens,  the  time! 
Twenty  minutes  to  seven.  Our  dinner!" 

"We'll  take  a  taxi.     .     .     .     Dash  it!" 

"What's  wrong?" 

"Not  a  bally  copper  in  my  pockets!" 

"And  I  left  my  handbag  on  the  sideboard!  We'll 
have  to  walk.  If  we  hurry  we  can  just  about  make 
it." 

"But,  I  say,  hasn't  this  been  a  jolly  lark?" 

"If  we  had  known  we  could  have  borrowed  a  dollar 
from  the  blind  man;  he'd  never  have  missed  it." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  307 

Meantime,  there  lay  in  wait  for  them — this  pair  of 
April  fools — a  taxicab.  It  stood  snugly  against  the 
curb  opposite  the  entrance  to  Cutty's  apartment. 
The  door  was  slightly  ajar. 

-    The  driver  watched  the  south  corner;  the  three 
men  inside  never  took  then*  gaze  off  the  north  corner. 


CHAPTER  XXVn 

CHAMPAGNE  in  the  glass  is  a  beautiful  thing 
to  see.  So  is  water,  the  morning  after.  That 
is  the  fault  with  frolic;  there  is  always  an 
inescapable  rebound.  The  most  violent  love  drops 
into  humdrum  tolerance.  A  pessimist  is  only  a  poor 
devil  who  has  anticipated  the  inevitable;  he  has  his 
headache  at  the  start.  Mental  champagnes  have 
then*  aftermaths  even  as  the  juice  of  the  grape. 

Hawksley  and  Batty,  hurrying  back,  began  to  taste 
lees.  They  began  to  see  things,  too — menace  in 
every  loiterer,  threat  in  every  alley.  They  had  had  a 
glorious  lark;  somewhere  beyond  would  be  the  piper 
with  an  appalling  bill.  They  exaggerated  the  dan- 
gers, multiplied  them;  perhaps  wisely.  There  would 
be  no  let-down  in  their  vigilance  until  they  reached 
haven.  But  this  state  of  mind  they  covered  with 
smiling  masks,  banter,  bursts  of  laughter,  and  flashes 
of  wit. 

They  were  both  genuinely  frightened,  but  with 
unselfish  fear.  Kitty's  fear  was  not  for  herself  but 
for  Johnny  Two-Hawks.  If  anything  happened  the 
blame  would  rightly  be  hers.  With  that  head  he 
wasn't  strictly  accountable  for  what  he  did;  she  was. 
A  firm  negative  on  her  part,  and  he  would  never  have 

308 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  309 

left  the  apartment.  And  his  fear  was  wholly  for  this 
astonishing  girl.  He  had  recklessly  thrust  her  into 
grave  danger.  Who  knew,  better  than  he,  the 
implacable  hate  of  the  men  who  sought  to  kill 
him? 

Moreover,  his  strength  was  leaving  him.  There 
was  an  alarming  weakness  in  his  legs,  purely  physical. 
He  had  overdone,  and  if  need  rose  he  would  not  be 
able  to  protect  her.  Damnable  fool!  But  she  had 
known.  That  was  the  odd  phase  of  it.  She  hadn't 
come  blindly.  What  mood  had  urged  her  to  share 
the  danger  along  with  the  lark?  Somehow,  she  was 
always  just  beyond  his  reach,  this  girl.  He  would 
never  forget  that  fan  popping  out  of  the  pistol,  the 
egg  burning  in  the  pan. 

The  apartment  was  only  three  blocks  away  when 
Kitty  decided  to  drop  her  mask.  "I'd  give  a  good 
deal  to  see  a  policeman.  They  are  never  around 
when  you  really  want  them.  Johnny  Two-Hawks, 
I'm  a  little  fool !  You  wouldn't  have  left  the  apart- 
ment but  for  me.  Will  you  forgive  me?" 

"It  is  I  who  should  ask  forgiveness.  I  say,  how 
nuch  farther  is  it?" 

"Only  about  two  blocks;  but  they  may  be  long 
ones.  Let's  step  into  this  doorway  for  a  moment. 
I  see  a  taxicab.  It  looks  to  be  standing  opposite  the 
building.  Don't  like  it.  Suppose  we  watch  it  for 
a  few  minutes?" 

Hawksley  was  grateful  for  the  respite;  and  together 


310  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

they  stared  at  the  unwinking  red  eye  of  the  tail  light. 
But  no  man  approached  the  cab  or  left  it. 

"I  believe  I've  hit  upon  a  plan,"  said  Kitty. 
"Certainly  we  have  not  been  followed.  In  that 
event  they  would  have  had  a  dozen  chances.  If 
someone  saw  us  leave  together,  naturally  they  will 
expect  us  to  return  together.  We'll  walk  to  the 
corner  of  our  block,  then  turn  east;  but  I  shall  re- 
main just  out  of  sight  while  you  will  go  round  the 
block.  Fifteen  minutes  should  carry  you  to  the 
south  corner.  I'll  be  on  watch  for  you.  The  mo- 
ment you  turn  I'll  walk  toward  you.  It  will  give  us 
a  bit  of  a  handicap  in  case  that  taxi  is  a  menace.  If 
any  one  appears,  run  for  it.  Where's  the  cane  you 
had?" 

"What  a  jolly  ass  I  am!  I  remember  now.  I 
left  the  stick  against  the  wall  of  the  opera  house. 
Blockhead !  With  a  stick,  now !  .  .  .  I'm  hope- 
less!" 

"Never  mind.  Let's  start.  That  taxi  may  be 
perfectly  honest.  It's  our  guilty  consciences  that 
are  peopling  the  shadows  with  goblins.  What  really 
bothers  us  is  that  we  have  broken  our  word  to  the 
kindliest  man  in  all  this  world." 

Hawksley  wondered  if  he  could  walk  round  the 
block  without  falling  down.  He  saw  that  he  was 
facing  a  physical  collapse,  hastened  by  the  knowl- 
edge that  the  safety  of  the  girl  depended  largely 
upon  himself.  What  he  had  accepted  at  the  be- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  311 

ginning  as  strength  had  been  nothing  more  than 
exhilaration  and  nerve  energy.  There  was  now 
nothing  but  the  latter,  and  only  feeble  straws  at  that. 
Oh,  he  would  manage  somehow;  he  jolly  well  had  to; 
and  there  was  a  bare  chance  of  falling  in  with  a 
bobby.  But  run?  Honestly,  now,  how  the  devil 
was  a  chap  to  run  on  a  pair  of  spools? 

Arriving  at  the  appointed  spot  they  separated. 
He  waved  his  hand  airily  and  marched  off.  If  he 
fell  it  would  be  out  of  sight,  where  the  girl  could  not 
see  him.  Clever  chap — what?  Damned  rotter: 
For  himself  he  did  not  care.  He  was  weary  of  this 
game  of  hide  and  seek.  But  to  have  lured  the  girl 
into  it!  When  he  turned  the  first  corner  of  his 
journey  he  paused  and  leaned  against  the  wall,  his 
eyes  shut.  When  he  opened  them  the  sidewalk  and 
the  street  lamps  were  normal  again. 

As  soon  as  he  disappeared  a  new  plan  came  to 
Kitty.  She  put  it  into  execution  at  once,  on  the 
basis  that  yonder  taxicab  was  an  enemy  machine. 
She  left  her  retreat  and  walked  boldly  down  the 
street,  her  eyes  alert  for  the  least  suspicious  sign.  If 
she  could  make  the  entrance  before  they  suspected 
the  trick,  she  could  obtain  help  before  Johnny  Two- 
Hawks  made  the  south  turn.  She  reached  her  ob- 
jective, pushed  through  the  revolving  doors,  and 
turned.  Dimly  she  could  see  the  taxi  driver;  but 
he  appeared  to  be  dozing  on  the  seat. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  one  of  the  three  men  in  the 


312  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

taxi  recognized  Kitty,  but  too  late  to  intercept  her. 
Her  manoeuvre  had  confused  him  temporarily.  And 
while  he  and  his  companions  were  debating,  Kitty  had 
time  to  summon  Cutty's  man  from  Elevator  Four. 

"Step  into  the  car!"  he  roughly  ordered,  after  she 
had  given  him  a  gist  of  her  suspicions.  He  turned 
off  the  lights,  stepped  out,  and  shut  the  gates  with  a 
furious  bang.  "And  stick  to  the  corner!  I'll  at- 
tend to  the  othei  fool." 

He  rushed  into  the  street,  his  automatic  ready, 
eyed  the  taxicab  speculatively,  wheeled  suddenly, 
and  ran  south  at  a  dog-trot.  He  rounded  the  south 
corner,  but  he  did  not  see  Hawksley  anywhere.  The 
dog-trot  became  a  dead  run.  As  he  wheeled  round 
the  corner  of  the  parallel  street  he  almost  bumped 
into  Hawksley,  who  had  a  policeman  in  tow. 

"Officer,"  said  the  man  with  the  boy's  face,  "this 
is  Federal  business.  Aliens.  Come  along.  There  may 
be  trouble.  If  there  should  be  any  shooting  don't 
bother  with  the  atmosphere.  Pick  out  a  real  target." 

"Anarchists?" 

"About  the  size  of  it." 

"Miss  Conover?"  asked  Hawksley. 

"Safe.  No  thanks  to  you,  though.  I'd  like  to 
knock  your  block  off,  if  you  want  to  know! " 

"Do  it!  Damned  little  use  to  me,"  declared 
Hawksley,  sagging. 

"Here,  what's  the  matter  with  you?"  cried  the 
policeman,  throwing  his  arm  round  Hawksley. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  X 1  ;j 

"  They  nearly  killed  him  a  few  days  gone.  A  crack 
on  the  bean;  but  he  wasn't  satisfied.  Help  him 
along.  I'll  be  hiking  back." 

But  the  taxicab  was  gone. 

Before  Cutty's  lieutenant  opened  the  gate  to  the 
apartment  he  spoke  to  Hawksley.  "The  boss  is 
doing  everything  he  can  to  put  you  through,  sir. 
Miss  Conover's  wit  saved  you.  For  if  you  hadn't 
separated  they'd  have  nailed  you.  I've  been  run- 
ning round  like  a  chicken  with  its  head  cut  off.  I 
forgot  that  door  on  the  seventeenth  floor.  I  tell  you 
honestly,  you've  been  playing  with  death.  It  wasn't 
fair  to  Miss  Conover." 

"It  was  my  fault,"  volunteered  Kitty. 

"Mine,"  protested  Hawksley. 

"Well,  they  know  where  you  roost  now,  for  a  fact. 
You've  spilled  the  beans.  I'm  sorry  I  lost  my 
temper.  The  devil  fly  away  with  you  both!"  The 
boy  laughed.  "You're  game,  anyhow.  But  darn 
it  all,  if  anything  had  happened  to  you  the  boss  would 
never  have  forgiven  me.  He's  the  whitest  old  scout 
God  ever  put  the  breath  of  life  into.  He's  always 
doing  something  for  somebody.  He'd  give  you  the 
block  if  you  had  the  gall  to  ask  for  it.  Play  the 
game  fifty-fifty  with  him  and  you'll  land  on  both  feet. 
And  you,  Miss  Conover,  must  not  come  here  again." 

"I  promise." 

"I'll  tell  you  a  little  secret.    It  was  the  bos*  who 


314  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

sent  you  out  of  town.  He  was  afraid  you'd  do  some- 
thing like  this.  When  you  are  ready  to  go  home 
you'll  find  Tony  Bernini  downstairs.  Sore  as  a  crab, 
too,  I'll  bet." 

"I'll  be  glad  to  go  home  with  him,"  said  Kitty, 
thoroughly  chastened  in  spirit. 

"That's  all  for  to-night." 

Kitty  and  Hawksley  stepped  out  into  the  corridor, 
the  problem  they  had  sought  to  shake  off  reestab- 
lished in  their  thoughts,  added  too,  if  anything. 

"How  do  you  feel?" 

"Top-hole,"  lied  Hawksley.  "My  word,  though, 
I  wobbled  a  bit  going  round  that  block.  I  almost 
kissed  the  bobby.  I  say,  he  thought  I'd  been  tilting 
a  few.  But  it  was  a  lark!" 

"Dinner  is  served,"  announced  Kuroki  at  their 
elbows.  His  expression  was  coldly  bland. 

"Dinner!"  cried  Hawksley,  brightening.  "What 
does  the  American  soldier  say?" 

"Eats!"  answered  Kitty. 

All  tension  vanished  in  the  double  laughter  that 
followed.  They  approached  dinner  with  something 
of  the  spirit  that  had  induced  Hawksley  to  fiddle  and 
Kitty  to  pass  the  hat  in  front  of  the  Metropolitan 
Opera  House.  Hawksley's  recuperative  powers  prom- 
ised well  for  his  future.  By  the  time  coffee  was 
served  his  head  had  cleared  and  his  legs  had  resumed 
their  normal  functions  of  support. 

"I  was  so  infernally  bored  1" 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  315 

"And  now?"  asked  Kitty,  recklessly. 
"Fancy  asking  me  that!" 

"Do  you  realize  that  all  this  is  dreadfully  im- 
proper?" 

"Oh,  I  say,  now!  Where's  the  harm?  If  ever 
there  was  a  young  woman  capable  of  taking  care  of 
herself " 

"  That  isn't  it.  It's  just  being  here  alone  with  you." 

"But  you  are  not  alone  with  me!" 

"Kuroki?"  Kitty  shrugged. 

" No.  At  my  side  of  the  table  is  Stefani  Gregor;  at 
yours  the  man  who  has  befriended  me." 

"Thank  you  for  that.  I  don't  know  of  anything 
nicer  you  could  say.  But  the  outside  world  would 
see  neither  of  our  friends.  I  did  not  come  here  to  see 
you." 

"No  need  of  telling  me  that." 

"I  had  a  problem — a  very  difficult  one — to  solve; 
and  I  believed  that  I  might  solve  it  if  I  came  to  these 
rooms.  I  had  quite  forgotten  you." 

Instantly,  upon  receiving  this  blunt  explanation, 
he  determined  that  she  should  never  cease  to  re- 
member him  after  this  night.  His  vanity  was  not 
touched;  it  was  something  far  more  elusive.  It  was 
perhaps  a  recurrence  of  that  inexplicable  desire  to 
hurt.  Somehow  he  sensed  the  flexible  steel  behind 
which  lay  the  soul  of  this  baffling  girl.  He  would 
presently  find  a  chink  in  the  armour  with  that  old 
Amati. 


316  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Blows  on  the  head  have  few  surgical  comparisons. 
That  which  kills  one  man  only  temporarily  stuns 
another.  One  man  loses  his  identity;  another  es- 
capes with  all  his  faculties  and  suffers  but  trifling  in- 
convenience. In  Hawksley's  case  the  blow  had 
probably  restricted  some  current  of  thought,  and  that 
which  would  have  flowed  normally  now  shot  out 
obliquely,  perversely.  It  might  be  that  the  nat- 
ural perverseness  of  his  blood,  unchecked  by  the 
noble  influence  of  Stefani  Gregor  and  liberated  by 
the  blow,  governed  his  thoughts  in  relation  to  Kitty. 
The  subjugation  of  women,  the  old  cynical  warfare 
of  sex — the  dominant  business  of  his  rich  and  idle 
forbears,  the  business  that  had  made  Boris  Karlov  a 
deadly  and  implacable  enemy — became  paramount 
in  his  disordered  brain. 

She  had  forgotten  him !  Very  well.  He  would  stir 
the  soul  of  her,  play  with  it,  lift  it  to  the  stars  and 
dash  it  down — if  she  had  a  soul.  Beautiful,  natural, 
alone.  He  became  all  Latin  under  the  pressure  of 
this  idea. 

"I  will  play  for  you,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"Please!  And  then  I'll  go  home  where  I  belong. 
I'll  be  in  the  living  room." 

When  he  returned  he  found  her  before  a  window, 
staring  at  the  myriad  lights. 

"Sit  here,"  he  said,  indicating  the  divan.  "I 
shall  stand  and  walk  about  as  I  play." 

Kitty  sat  down,  touching  the  pillows,  reflectively. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  317 

She  thought  of  the  tears  she  had  wept  upon  them. 
That  sinister  and  cynical  thought!  Suddenly  she 
saw  light.  Her  problem  would  have  been  none  at 
all  if  Cutty  had  said  he  loved  her.  There  would  have 
been  something  sublime  in  making  him  happy  in  his 
twilight.  He  had  loved  and  lost  her  mother.  To 
pay  him  for  that !  He  was  right.  Those  twenty-odd 
years — his  seniority — had  mellowed  him,  filled  him 
with  deep  and  tender  understanding.  To  be  with 
him  was  restful;  the  very  thought  of  him  now  was 
resting.  No  matter  how  much  she  might  love  a 
younger  man  he  would  frequently  torture  her  by 
unconscious  egoism;  and  by  the  time  he  had  mel- 
lowed, the  mulled  wine  would  be  cold.  If  only  Cutty 
had  said  he  loved  her! 

"What  shall  I  play?" 

Kitty  raised  her  eyes  in  frank  astonishment. 
Tnere  was  a  fiercely  proud  expression  on  Hawksley's 
face.  It  was  not  the  man,  it  was  the  artist  who  was 
angry. 

"Forgive  me!  I  was  dreaming  a  little,"  she 
apologized  with  quick  understanding.  "I  am  not 
quite — myself." 

"Neither  am  I.  I  will  play  something  to  fit  your 
dream.  But  wait !  When  I  play  I  am  articulate, 
can  express  myself— all  emotions.  I  am  what  I 
play— happy,  sad,  gay,  full  of  the  devil.  I  warn 
you.  I  can  speak  aU  things.  I  can  laugh  at  you, 
weep  with  you,  despise  you,  love  you!  All  in  the 


318  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

touch  of  these  strings.     I  warn  you  there  is  magic  in 
this  Amati.     Will  you  risk  it?" 

Ordinarily — had  this  florid  outburst  come  from 
another  man — Kitty  would  have  laughed.  It  had 
the  air  of  piqued  vanity;  but  she  knew  that  this  was 
not  the  interpretation.  On  the  streets  he  had  been 
the  most  amusing  and  surprising  comrade  she  had 
ever  known,  as  merry  and  whimsical  as  Cutty- 
young  and  handsome — the  real  man.  He  had  been 
real  that  night  when  he  entered  through  her  kitchen 
window,  with  the  drums  of  jeopardy  about  his  neck. 
He  had  been  real  that  night  she  had  brought  him  his 
wallet. 

Electric  antagonism — the  room  seemed  charged 
with  it.  The  man  had  stepped  aside  for  a  moment 
and  the  great  noble  had  taken  his  place.  It  was  not 
because  she  had  been  reared  in  rather  a  theatrical 
atmosphere  that  she  transcribed  his  attitude  thus. 
She  knew  that  he  was  noble.  That  she  did  not  know 
his  rank  was  of  no  consequence.  Cutty's  narrative, 
which  she  had  pretended  to  believe,  had  set  this  man 
in  the  middle  class.  Never  in  this  world.  There 
was  only  one  middle  class  out  of  which  such  a 
personality  might,  and  often  did,  emerge — the 
American  middle  class.  In  Europe,  never.  No 
peasant  blood,  no  middle-class  corpuscle,  stirred  in 
this  man's  veins.  The  ancient  boyar  looked  down  at 
her. 

"Play!"  said  Kitty.     There  was  a  smile  on  her 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  319 

lips,  but  there  was  fiery  challenge  in  her  slate-blue 
eyes.  The  blood  of  Irish  kings — and  what  Irish- 
man dares  deny  it? — surged  into  her  throat. 

We  wear  masks,  we  inherit  generations  of  masks; 
and  a  trivial  incident  reveals  the  primordial  which 
lurks  in  each  one  of  us.  Savages — Kitty  with  her 
stone  hatchet  and  Hawksley  swinging  the  curved 
blade  of  Rurik. 

He  began  one  of  those  tempestuous  compositions, 
brilliant  and  bewildering,  that  submerge  the  most 
appreciative  lay  mentality — because  he  was  angry,  a 
double  anger  that  he  should  be  angry  over  he  knew 
not  what — and  broke  off  in  the  middle  of  the  composi- 
tion because  Kitty  sat  upright,  stonily  unimpressed. 

Tschaikowsky's  "  Serenade  Melancolique."  Kitty, 
after  a  few  measures,  laid  aside  her  stone  hatchet,  and 
her  body  relaxed.  Music!  She  began  to  absorb  it 
as  parched  earth  absorbs  the  tardy  rain.  Then 
came  the  waltz  which  had  haunted  her.  Her  face 
grew  tenderly  beautiful;  and  Hawksley,  a  true  artist, 
saw  that  he  had  discovered  the  fifth  string;  and  he 
played  upon  it  with  all  the  artistry  which  was 
naturally  his  and  which  had  been  given  form  by  the 
master  who  had  taught  him. 

For  the  physical  exertions  he  relied  upon  nerve 
energy  again.  Nature  is  generous  when  we  are 
young.  No  matter  how  much  we  draw  against  the 
account  she  always  has  a  little  more  for  us.  He 
forgot  that  only  an  hour  gone  he  had  been  dizzy  with 


320  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

pain,  forgot  everything  but  the  glory  of  the  sounds  he 
was  evoking  and  their  visible  reaction  upon  this  girl. 
The  devil  was  not  only  in  his  heart,  but  in  his  hand. 

Never  had  Kitty  heard  such  music.  To  be  played 
to  in  this  manner — directly,  with  embracing  tender- 
ness, with  undivided  fire — would  have  melted  the 
soul  of  Gobseck  the  money  lender;  and  Kitty  was 
warm-blooded,  Irish,  emotional.  The  fiddle  called 
poignantly  to  the  Irish  in  her.  She  wanted  to  go 
roving  with  this  man;  with  her  hand  on  his  shoulder 
to  walk  in  the  thin  air  of  high  places.  Through  it  all, 
however,  she  felt  vaguely  troubled;  the  instinct  of  the 
trap.  The  sinister  and  cynical  idea  which  had 
clandestinely  taken  up  quarters  in  her  mind  awoke 
and  assailed  her  from  a  new  angle,  that  of  youth. 
Something  in  her  cried  out:  "Stop!  Stop!"  But 
her  lips  were  mute,  her  body  enchained. 

Suddenly  Hawksley  laid  aside  the  fiddle  and 
advanced.  He  reached  down  and  drew  her  up. 
Kitty  did  not  resist  him;  she  was  numb  with  enchant- 
ment. He  held  her  close  for  a  second,  then  kissed 
her — her  hair,  eyes,  mouth — released  her  and  stepped 
back,  a  bantering  smile  on  his  lips  and  cold  terror  in 
his  heart.  The  devil  who  had  inspired  this  phase  of 
the  drama  now  deserted  his  victim,  as  he  generally 
does  in  the  face  of  superior  forces. 

Kitty  stood  perfectly  still  for  a  full  minute, 
stunned.  It  was  that  smile — frozen  on  his  lips — 
that  brought  her  back  to  intimacy  with  cold  realities. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  321 

Had  he  asked  her  pardon,  had  he  shown  the  least 
repentance,  she  might  have  forgiven,  forgotten.  But 
knowing  mankind  as  she  did  she  could  give  but  one 
interpretation  to  that  smile — of  which  he  was  no 
longer  conscious. 

Without  anger,  in  quiet,  level  tones  she  said:  "I 
had  foolishly  thought  that  we  two  might  be  friends. 
You  have  made  it  impossible.  You  have  also  abused 
the  kindly  hospitality  of  the  man  who  has  protected 
you  from  your  enemies.  A  few  days  ago  he  did  me 
the  honour  to  ask  me  to  marry  him.  I  am  going  to. 
I  wish  you  no  evil."  She  turned  and  walked  from 
the  room. 

Even  then  there  was  time.  But  he  did  not  move. 
It  was  not  until  he  heard  the  elevator  gate  crash  that 
he  was  physically  released  from  the  thraldom  of  the 
inner  revelation.  Love — in  the  blinding  flash  of  a 
thunderbolt !  He  had  kissed  her  not  because  he  was 
the  son  of  his  father,  but  because  he  loved  her!  And 
now  he  never  could  tell  her.  He  must  let  her  go, 
believing  that  the  man  she  had  saved  from  death  had 
repaid  her  with  insult.  On  top  of  all  his  misfortunes, 
his  tragedies — love!  There  was  a  God,  yes,  but  his 
name  was  Irony.  Love!  He  stepped  toward  the 
divan,  stumbled,  and  fell  against  it,  his  arms  spread 
over  the  pillows;  and  in  this  position  he  remained. 

For  a  while  his  thoughts  were  broken,  inconclusive; 
he  was  like  a  man  in  the  dark,  groping  for  a  door. 
Principally,  his  poor  head  was  trying  to  solve  the 


32?  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

riddle  of  his  never-ending  misfortunes.  Why?  What 
had  he  done  that  these  calamities  should  be  piled 
upon  his  head?  He  had  lived  decently;  his  youth 
had  been  normal;  he  had  played  fair  with  men  and 
women.  Why  make  him  pay  for  what  his  forbears 
had  done?  He  wasn't  fair  game. 

He!  A  singular  revelation  cleared  one  corner. 
Kitty  had  spoken  of  a  problem;  and  he,  by  those 
devil-urged  kisses,  had  solved  it  for  her.  She  had 
been  doddering,  and  his  own  act  had  thrust  her  into 
the  arms  of  that  old  thoroughbred.  That  cynical 
suggestion  of  his  the  other  morning  had  been  acted 
upon.  God  had  long  ago  deserted  him,  and  now  the 
devil  himself  had  taken  leave.  Hawksley  buried  his 
face  in  the  pillow  once  made  wet  with  Kitty's  tears. 

The  great  tragedy  in  life  lies  in  being  too  late. 
Hawksley  had  learned  this  once  before;  it  was  now 
being  driven  home  again.  Cutty  was  to  find  it  out 
on  the  morrow,  for  he  missed  his  train  that  night. 

The  shuttles  of  the  Weaver  in  this  pattern  of  life 
were  two  green  stones  called  the  drums  of  jeopardy, 
inanimate  objects,  but  perfect  tools  in  the  hands  of 
Destiny.  But  for  these  stones  Hawksley  would  not 
have  tarried  too  long  on  a  certain  red  night;  Cutty 
would  not  now  be  stumbling  about  the  labyrinths  into 
which  his  looting  instincts  had  thrust  him;  and  Kitty 
Conover  would  have  jogged  along  in  the  humdrum 
rut,  if  not  happy  at  least  philosophically  content  with 
her  lot. 


CHAPTER  XXVHI 

DECISION  is  always  a  mental  relief,  hesitance 
a  curse.  Kitty,  having  shifted  her  burdens 
to  the  broad  shoulders  of  Cutty,  felt  as  she 
reached  the  lobby  as  if  she  had  left  storm  and  stress 
behind  and  entered  calm.  She  would  marry  Cutty; 
she  had  published  the  fact,  burned  her  bridges. 

She  had  stepped  into  the  car,  her  heart  full  of  cold 
fury.  Now  she  began  to  find  excuses  for  Hawksley's 
conduct.  A  sick  brain;  he  was  not  really  accountable 
for  his  acts.  Her  own  folly  had  opened  the  way.  Of 
course  she  would  never  see  him  again.  Why  should 
she?  Their  lives  were  as  far  apart  as  the  Volga  and 
the  Hudson. 

Bernini  met  her  in  the  lobby.  "I've  got  a  cab  for 
you,  Miss  Conover,"  he  said  as  if  nothing  at  all  had 
happened. 

"Have  you  Cutty's  address?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  take  me  at  once  to  a  telegraph  office.  I 
have  a  very  important  message  to  send  him." 

"All  right,  Miss  Conover." 

"Say:  'Decision  made.  It  is  yes.'  And  sign  it 
just  Kitty." 

Without  being  conscious  of  it  her  soul  was  still  in 

323 


324  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

the  clouds,  where  it  had  been  driven  by  the  music  of 
the  fiddle;  thus,  what  she  assumed  to  be  a  normal 
sequence  of  a  train  of  thought  was  only  a  sublime 
impulse.  She  would  marry  Cutty.  More,  she 
would  be  his  wife,  his  true  wife.  For  his  tenderness, 
his  generosity,  his  chivalry,  she  would  pay  him  in 
kind.  There  would  be  no  nonsense;  love  would  not 
enter  into  the  bargain;  but  there  would  be  the  fra- 
grance of  perfect  understanding.  That  he  was 
fifty-two  and  she  was  twenty-four  no  longer  mattered. 
No  more  loneliness,  no  more  genteel  poverty;  for 
such  benefits  she  was  ready  to  pay  the  score  in  full. 
A  man  she  was  genuinely  fond  of,  a  man  she  could 
look  up  to,  always  depend  upon. 

Was  there  such  a  thing  as  perfect  love?  She  had 
her  doubts.  She  reasoned  that  love  was  what  a  body 
decided  was  love,  the  psychological  moment  when  the 
physical  attraction  became  irresistible.  Who  could 
tell  before  the  fact  which  was  the  true  and  which  the 
false?  Lived  there  a  woman,  herself  excepted,  who 
had  not  hesitated  between  two  men — a  man  who 
had  not  doddered  between  two  women — for  better 
or  for  worse?  What  did  the  average  woman  know 
of  the  man,  the  average  man  know  of  the  woman — 
until  afterward?  To  stake  all  upon  a  guess! 

She  knew  Cutty.  Under  her  own  eyes  he  had 
passed  through  certain  proving  fires.  There  would 
be  no  guessing  the  manner  of  man  he  was.  He  was 
fifty -two;  that  is  to  say,  the  grand  passion  had  come 


11  Never  had  Kitty  heard  such  music.     Through  it  all, 
however,  she  felt  vaguely  troubled     .     .     . 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  325 

and  gone.     There  would  be  mutual  affection  and 
comradeship. 

True,  she  had  her  dreams;  but  she  could  lay  them 
away  without  any  particular  regret.  She  had  never 
been  touched  by  the  fire  of  passion.  Let  it  go.  But 
she  did  know  what  perfect  comradeship  was,  and 
she  would  grasp  it  and  never  loose  her  hold.  Some- 
thing out  of  life. 

"A  narrow  squeak,  Miss  Conover,"  said  Bernini, 
breaking  the  long  silence. 

"A  miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile,"  replied  Kitty,  not  at 
all  grateful  for  the  interruption. 

"We've  done  everything  we  could  to  protect  you. 
If  you  can't  see  now — why,  the  jig  is  up.  A  chain  is 
as  strong  as  its  weakest  link.  And  in  a  game  like 
this  a  woman  is  always  the  weakest  link." 

"You're  quite  a  philosopher." 

"I  have  reason  to  be.     I'm  married." 

"Am  I  expected  to  laugh?" 

"Miss  Conover,  you're  a  wonder.  You  come 
through  these  affairs  with  a  smile,  when  you  ought  to 
have  hysterics.  I'll  bet  a  doughnut  that  when  you 
see  a  mouse  you  go  and  get  it  a  piece  of  cheese." 

"Do  you  want  the  truth?  Well,  I'll  tell  it  to  you. 
You  have  all  kept  me  on  the  outer  edge  of  this  affair, 
and  I've  been  trying  to  find  out  why.  I  have  the 
reportorial  instinct,  as  they  say.  I  inherited  it  from 
my  father.  You  put  a  strange  weapon  in  my  hands, 
yon  tell  me  it  is  deadly,  but  you  don't  tell  me  which. 


326  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

end  is  deadly.  Do  you  know  who  this  Russian 
is?" 

"Honestly,  I  don't." 

"Does  Cutty?" 

"I  don't  know  that,  either." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  pair  of  emeralds  called  the 
drums  of  jeopardy?" 

"Nope.  But  I  do  know  if  you  continue  these 
stunts  you'll  head  the  whole  game  into  the  ditch." 

"You  may  set  your  mind  at  ease.  I'm  going  to 
marry  Cutty.  I  shall  not  go  to  the  apartment 
again  until  Hawksley,  as  he  is  called,  is  gone." 

"  Well,  well;  that's  good  news !  But  let  me  put  you 
wise  to  one  fact,  Miss  Conover:  you  have  picked 
some  man!  I'm  not  much  of  a  scholar,  but  knowing 
him  as  I  do  I'm  always  wondering  why  they  made 
Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity  in  female  form.  But  this 
night's  work  was  bad  business.  They  know  where 
the  Russian  is  now;  and  if  the  game  lasts  long  enough 
they'll  reach  the  chief,  find  out  who  he  is;  and  that'll 
put  the  kibosh  on  his  usefulness  here  and  abroad. 
Well,  here's  home,  and  no  more  lecture  from  me." 

"Sorry  I've  been  so  much  trouble." 

"Perhaps  we  ought  to  have  shown  you  which  end 
shoots." 

"Good-night." 

If  Kitty  had  any  doubt  as  to  the  wisdom  of  her 
decision,  the  cold,  gloomy  rooms  of  her  apartment 
dissipated  them.  She  wandered  through  the  rooms, 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  327 

musing,  calling  back  animated  scenes.  What  would 
the  spirit  of  her  mother  say?  Had  she  doddered 
between  Conover  and  Cutty?  Perhaps.  But  she 
had  been  one  of  the  happy  few  who  had  guessed 
right.  Singular  thought:  her  mother  would  have 
been  happy  with  Cutty,  too. 

Oh,  the  relief  of  knowing  what  the  future  was 
going  to  be!  She  took  off  her  hat  and  tossed  it  upon 
the  table.  The  good  things  of  life,  and  a  good 
comrade. 

Food.  The  larder  would  be  empty  and  there  was 
her  breakfast  to  consider.  She  passed  out  into  the 
kitchen,  wrote  out  a  list  of  necessities,  and  put  it  on 
the  dumb  waiter.  Now  for  the  dishes  she  had  so 
hurriedly  left.  She  rolled  up  her  sleeves,  put  on  the 
apron,  and  fell  to  the  task.  After  such  a  night — 
dish- washing !  She  laughed.  It  was  a  funny  old 
world. 

Pauses.  Perhaps  she  should  have  gone  to  a  hotel, 
away  from  all  familiar  objects.  Those  flatirons 
intermittently  pulled  her  eyes  round.  Her  fancy 
played  tricks  with  her  whenever  her  glance  touched 
the  window.  Faces  peering  in.  In  a  burst  of 
impatience  she  dropped  the  dish  towel,  hurried  to  the 
window,  and  threw  it  up.  Black  emptiness!  .  .  . 
Cutty,  crossing  the  platform  with  Hawksley  on  his 
shoulders.  She  saw  that,  and  it  comforted  her. 

She  finished  her  work  and  started  for  bed.  But 
first  she  entered  the  guest  room  and  turned  on  the 


328  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

lights.  Olga.  She  had  intended  to  ask  him  who 
Olga  was. 

A  great  pity.  They  might  have  been  friends. 
The  back  of  her  hand  went  to  her  lips  but  did  not 
touch  them.  She  could  not  rub  away  those  burning 
kisses — that  is,  not  with  the  back  of  her  hand. 
Vividly  she  saw  him  fiddling  bareheaded  in  front  of 
the  Metropolitan  Opera  House.  It  seemed,  though, 
that  it  had  happened  years  ago.  A  great  pity.  The 
charm  of  that  frolic  would  abide  with  her  as  long  as 
she  lived.  A  brave  man,  too.  Hadn't  he  left  her 
with  a  gay  wave  of  the  hand,  not  knowing,  for  want 
of  strength,  if  he  could  make  the  detour  of  the  block? 
That  took  courage.  His  journey  halfway  across  the 
world  had  taken  courage.  Yet  he  could  so  basely 
disillusion  her.  It  was  not  the  kiss;  it  was  the 
smile.  She  had  seen  that  smile  before,  born  of  evil. 
If  only  he  had  spoken! 

The  heavenly  magic  of  that  fiddle!  It  made  her 
sad.  Genius,  the  ability  to  play  with  souls,  soothe, 
tantalize,  lift  up;  and  then  to  smile  at  her  like  that! 

She  shut  down  the  curtain  upon  these  cogitations 
and  summoned  Cutty,  visualized  his  handsome 
head,  shot  with  gray,  the  humour  of  his  smile.  She 
did  care  for  him;  no  doubt  of  that.  She  couldn't 
have  sent  that  telegram  else.  Cutty — name  of  a 
pipe,  as  the  Frenchmen  said !  All  at  once  she  rocked 
with  laughter.  She  was  going  to  marry  a  man  whose 
given  name  she  could  not  recall!  Henry,  George, 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  329 

John,  William?  For  the  life  of  her  she  could  not 
remember. 

And  with  this  laughter  still  bubbling  in  a  softer 
note  she  got  into  bed,  twisted  about  from  side  to 
side,  from  this  pillow  to  that,  the  tired  body  seeking 
perfect  relaxation. 

A  broken  melody  entered  her  head.  Sleepily  she 
sought  one  channel  of  thought  after  another  to 
escape;  still  the  melody  persisted.  As  her  conscious- 
ness dodged  hither  and  thither  the  bars  and  measures 
joined.  .  .  .  She  sat  up,  chilled,  bewildered. 
That  Tschaikowsky  waltz!  She  could  hear  it  as 
clearly  as  if  Johnny  Two-Hawks  and  the  Amati  were 
in  the  very  room.  She  grew  afraid.  Of  what? 
She  did  not  know. 

And  while  she  sat  there  in  bed  threshing  out  this 
fear  to  find  the  grain,  Cutty  was  tramping  the  streets 
of  Washington,  her  telegram  crumpled  in  his  hand. 
From  time  to  time  he  would  open  it  and  reread  it 
under  a  street  lamp. 

To  marry  her  and  then  to  cheat  her.  It  wasn't 
humanly  possible  to  marry  her  and  then  to  let  her 
go.  He  thought  of  those  warm,  soft  arms  round  his 
neck,  the  absolute  trust  of  that  embrace.  Molly's 
girl.  No,  he  could  not  do  it.  He  would  have  to 
back  down,  tell  her  he  could  not  put  the  bargain 
through,  invent  some  other  scheme. 

The  idea  had  been  repugnant  to  her.  It  had 
taken  her  a  week  to  fight  it  out.  It  was  a  little 


330  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

beyond  his  reach,  however,  why  the  idea  should  have 
been  repugnant  to  her.  It  entailed  nothing  beyond 
a  bit  of  mummery.  The  repugnance  was  not  due  to 
religious  training.  The  Conover  household,  as  he 
recalled  it,  had  been  rather  lax  in  that  respect. 
Why,  then,  should  Kitty  have  hesitated? 

He  thought  of  Hawksley,  and  swore.  But  for 
Hawksley's  suggestion  no  muddle  like  this  would 
have  occurred.  Devil  take  him  and  his  infernal 
green  stones! 

Cutty  suddenly  remembered  his  train.  He  looked 
at  his  watch  and  saw  that  his  lower  berth  was  well  on 
the  way  to  Baltimore.  Always  and  eternally  he  was 
missing  something. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

NOT  unusually,  when  we  burn  our  bridges,  we 
have  in  the  back  of  our  minds  the  dim  hope 
that  there  may  be  a  shallow  ford  somewhere. 
Thus,  bridges  should  not  be  burned  impulsively; 
there  may  be  no  ford. 

The  idea  of  retreat  pushed  forward  in  Kitty's 
mind  the  moment  she  awoke;  but  she  pressed  it  back 
in  shame.  She  had  given  her  word,  and  she  would 
stand  by  it. 

The  night  had  been  a  series  of  wild  impulses.  She 
had  not  sent  that  telegram  to  Cutty  as  the  result  of 
her  deliberations  in  the  country.  Impulse;  a  flash, 
and  the  thing  was  done,  her  bridges  burned.  To 
crush  Johnny  Two-Hawks,  fill  his  cup  with  chagrin, 
she  had  told  him  she  was  going  to  marry  Cutty. 
That  was  the  milk  in  the  cocoanut.  Morning  has  a 
way  of  showing  up  night-gold  for  what  it  is — tinsel. 
Kitty  saw  the  stage  of  last  night's  drama  dismantled. 
If  there  was  a  shallow  ford,  she  would  never  lower  her 
pride  to  seek  it.  She  had  told  Two-Hawks,  sent  that 
wire  to  Cutty,  broke  the  news  to  Bernini. 

But  did  she  really  want  to  go  back?  Not  to  know 
her  own  mind,  to  swing  back  and  forth  like  a  pendu- 
lum !  Was  it  because  she  feared  that,  having  married 

331 


332  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Cutty,  she  might  actually  fall  in  love  with  some 
other  man  later?  She  could  still  go  through  the 
mummery  as  Cutty  had  planned;  but  what  about  all 
the  sublime  generosity  of  the  preceding  night? 

A  queer  feeling  pervaded  her:  She  was  a 
marionette,  a  human  manikin,  and  some  invisible 
hand  was  pulling  the  wires  that  made  her  do  all  these 
absurd  things.  Her  own  mind  no  longer  controlled 
her  actions.  The  persistence  of  that  waltz!  It  had 
haunted  her,  broken  into  her  dreams,  awakened  her 
out  of  them.  Why  should  she  be  afraid?  What  was 
there  to  be  afraid  of  in  a  recurring  melody?  She  had 
heard  a  dozen  famed  violinists  play  it.  It  had  never 
before  affected  her  beyond  a  flash  of  emotionalism. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  romantic  misfortune  of  the  man, 
the  mystery  surrounding  him,  the  menace  which 
walled  him  in. 

Breakfast.  Human  manikins  had  appetites.  So 
she  made  her  breakfast.  Before  leaving  the  kitchen 
she  stopped  at  the  window.  The  sun  filled  the  court 
with  brilliant  light.  The  patches  of  rust  on  the 
fire-escape  ladder,  which  was  on  the  Gregor  side  of 
the  platform,  had  the  semblance  of  powdered 
gold. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  was  speeding  downtown  to 
the  office.  All  through  the  day  she  walked,  worked, 
talked  as  one  in  the  state  of  trance.  There  were 
periods  of  stupefaction  which  at  length  roused  Bur- 
lingame's  curiosity. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  333 

"Kitty,  what's  the  matter  with  you?  You  look 
dazed  about  something." 

"How  do  you  clean  a  pipe?"  she  countered,  ir- 
relevantly. 

"Clean  a  pipe?"  he  repeated,  nearly  overbalancing 
his  chair. 

"  Yes.  You  see,  I  may  make  up  my  mind  to  marry 
a  man  who  smokes  a  pipe,"  said  Kitty,  desperately, 
eager  to  steer  Burlingame  into  another  channel; 
"and  certainly  I  ought  to  know  how  to  clean  one." 

"Kitty,  I'm  an  old-timer.  You  can't  sidetrack 
me  like  this.  Something  has  happened.  You  say 
you  had  a  great  time  in  the  country,  and  you  come 
in  as  pale  as  the  moon,  like  someone  suffering  from 
shell  shock.  Ever  since  Cutty  came  in  here  that 
day  you've  been  acting  oddly.  You  may  not  know 
it,  but  Cutty  asked  me  to  send  you  out  of  town. 
You've  been  in  some  kind  of  danger.  What's  the 
yarn?" 

"So  big  that  no  newspaper  will  ever  publish  it, 
Burly.  If  Cutty  wants  to  tell  you  some  day  he  can. 
I  haven't  the  right  to." 

"Did  he  drag  you  into  it  or  did  you  fall  into  it?" 

"I  walked  into  it,  as  presently  I  shall  walk  out  of 
it — all  on  my  own." 

"Better  keep  your  eyes  open.  Cutty's  a  stormy 
petrel;  when  he  flies  there's  rough  weather." 

"What  do  you  know  about  him?" 

"Probably  what  he  has  already  told  you— that  he 


334  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

is  a  foreign  agent  of  the  Government.  What  do 
you  know?" 

"Everything  but  one  thing,  and  that's  a  problem 
particularly  my  own." 

"Alien  stuff,  I  suppose.  Cutty's  strong  on  that. 
Well,  mind  your  step.  The  boys  are  bringing  in 
queer  scraps  about  something  big  going  to  happen 
May  Day — no  facts,  just  rumours.  Better  shoot  for 
home  the  shortest  route  each  night  and  stick  round 
there." 

There  are  certain  spiritual  exhilarants  that  nullify 
caution,  warning  the  presence  of  danger.  The  boy 
with  his  first  pay  envelope,  the  lover  who  has  just 
been  accepted,  the  debutante  on  the  way  to  her  first 
ball;  the  impetus  that  urges  us  to  rush  in  where 
angels  fear  to  tread. 

At  a  quarter  after  five  Kitty  left  the  office  for  home, 
unaware  that  the  attribute  designated  as  caution  had 
evaporated  from  her  system.  She  proceeded  toward 
the  Subway  mechanically,  the  result  of  habit.  Cas- 
ually she  noted  two  taxicabs  standing  near  the  Sub- 
way entrance.  That  she  noted  them  at  all  was  due 
to  the  fact  that  Subway  entrances  were  not  fortui- 
tous hunting  grounds  for  taxicabs.  Only  the  unusual 
would  have  attracted  her  in  her  present  condition  of 
mind.  It  takes  time  and  patience  to  weave  a 
good  web — observe  any  spider — time  in  finding  a 
suitable  place  for  it;  patience  in  the  spinning. 

All  that  worried  Karlov  was  the  possibility  of  her 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  335 

not  observing  him.  If  he  could  place  his  taxicabs 
where  they  would  attract  her,  even  casually,  the  main 
difficulty  would  be  out  of  the  way.  The  moment  she 
turned  her  head  toward  the  cabs  he  would  step  out 
into  plain  view.  The  girl  was  susceptible  and  ad- 
venturesome. 

Kitty  saw  a  man  step  out  of  the  foremost  taxicab, 
give  some  instructions  to  the  chauffeur,  and  get  back 
into  the  cab,  immediately  to  be  driven  off  at  moder- 
ate speed.  She  recognized  the  man  at  once.  Never 
would  she  forget  that  squat,  gorilla-like  body.  Kar- 
lov!  Yonder,  in  that  cab!  She  ran  to  the  remain- 
ing cab;  wherein  she  differed  from  angels. 

"Are  you  free?'* 

"Yes,  miss." 

"See  that  taxi  going  across  town?  Follow  it  and 
I  will  give  you  ten  extra  fare." 

"You're  on,  miss." 

Karlov  peered  through  the  rear  window  of  his  cab. 
If  she  had  in  tow  a  Federal  agent  the  manoeuvre  would 
fail,  at  a  great  risk  to  himself.  But  he  would  soon 
be  able  to  tell  whether  or  not  she  was  being  fol- 
lowed. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  not.  She  had  returned 
to  New  York  a  day  before  she  was  expected.  Her 
unknown  downtown  guardian  would  not  turn  up  for 
duty  until  ordered  by  Cutty  to  do  so.  She  entered 
the  second  cab  with  no  definite  plan  in  her  head. 
Karlov,  the  man  who  wanted  to  kill  Johnny  Two- 


336  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Hawks,  the  man  who  held  Stefani  Gregor  a  prisoner! 
For  the  present  these  facts  were  sufficient. 

"Don't  get  too  near,"  said  Kitty  through  the 
speaking  tube.  "Just  keep  the  cab  in  sight." 

A  perfectly  logical  compensation.  She  herself 
had  set  in  motion  the  machinery  of  this  amazing 
adventure;  it  was  logically  right  that  she  should  end 
it.  Poor  dear  old  Cutty — to  fancy  he  could  pull 
the  wool  over  Kitty  Conover's  eyes!  Cutty,  the 
most  honest  man  alive,  had  set  his  foot  upon  an 
unethical  bypath  and  now  found  himself  among 
nettles.  To  keep  Johnny  Two-Hawks  prisoner  in 
that  lofty  apartment  while  he  hunted  for  the  drums 
of  jeopardy!  Hadn't  he  said  he  had  seen  emeralds 
he  would  steal  with  half  a  chance?  Cutty,  playing 
at  this  sort  of  game,  his  conscience  biting  whichever 
way  he  turned!  He  had  been  hunting  unsuccessfully 
for  the  stones  that  night  he  had  come  in  with  his  face 
and  hands  bloody.  Why  hadn't  he  kissed  her? 

Johnny  Two-Hawks — bourgeois  ?  Utter  nonsense ! 
Of  course  it  did  not  matter  now  what  he  was;  he  had 
dug  a  bridgeless  chasm  with  that  smile.  Sometime 
to-morrow  he  and  Stefani  Gregor  would  be  on  their 
way  to  Montana;  and  that  would  be  the  last  of  them 
both.  To-morrow  would  mark  the  fork  in  the  road. 
But  life  would  never  again  be  humdrum  for  Kitty 
Conover. 

The  taxicabs  were  bumping  over  cobbles,  through 
empty  streets.  It  was  six  by  now;  at  that  hour  this 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  337 

locality,  which  she  recognized  as  the  warehouse  dis- 
trict, was  always  dead.  The  deserted  streets,  how 
ever,  set  in  motion  a  slight  perturbation.  Supposing 
Karlov  grew  suspicious  and  turned  aside  from  his  ob- 
jective? Even  as  this  disturbing  thought  took  form 
Karlov's  taxicab  stopped,  Kitty's  stopped  also,  but 
without  instructions  from  her.  She  had  intended  to 
drive  on  and  from  the  rear  window  observe  if  Karlov 
entered  that  old  red-brick  house. 

"Go  on!"  she  called  through  the  tube. 

The  chauffeur  obeyed,  but  he  stopped  again  di- 
rectly behind  Karlov's  taxicab.  He  slid  off  his  seat 
and  opened  the  door.  His  face  was  grim. 

Tumpitum-tump  !  Tumpitum-tump!  She  did  not 
hear  the  tocsin  this  time;  she  felt  it  on  her  spine — 
the  drums  of  fear.  If  they  touched  her ! 

"Come  with  me,  miss.  If  you  are  sensible  you 
will  not  be  harmed.  If  you  cut  up  a  racket  I'll  have 
to  carry  you." 

"What  does  this  mean?"  faltered  Kitty. 

"That  we  have  finally  got  you,  miss.  You  can 
see  for  yourself  that  there  isn't  any  help  in  sight. 
Better  take  it  sensibly.  We  don't  intend  to  hurt  you. 
It's  somebody  else  we  want.  There's  a  heavy  score 
against  you,  but  we'll  overlook  it  if  you  act  sensibly. 
You  were  very  clever  last  night;  but  the  game  de- 
pends upon  the  last  trick." 

"I'll  go  sensibly,"  Kitty  agreed.  They  must  not 
touch  her! 


338  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Karlov  did  not  speak  as  lie  opened  the  door  of  the 
House  for  her.  His  expression  was  Buddha-like. 

"This  way,  miss,"  said  the  chauffeur,  affably. 

"You  are  an  American?" 

"Whenever  it  pays." 

Presently  Kitty  found  herself  in  the  attic,  alone. 
They  hadn't  touched  her;  so  much  was  gained.  Poor 
little  fool  that  she  was !  It  was  fairly  dark  now,  but 
overhead  she  could  see  the  dim  outlines  of  the  scuttle 
or  trap.  The  attic  was  empty  except  for  a  few  pieces 
of  lumber  and  some  soap  boxes.  She  determined  to 
investigate  the  trap  at  once,  before  they  came  again. 

She  placed  two  soap  boxes  on  end  and  laid  a  plank 
across.  After  testing  its  stability  she  mounted. 
She  could  reach  the  trap  easily,  with  plenty  of  lever- 
age to  spare.  She  was  confident  that  she  could  draw 
herself  up  to  the  roof.  She  sought  for  the  hooks  and 
liberated  them,  then  she  placed  her  palms  against 
the  trap  and  heaved.  Not  even  a  creak  answered 
her.  She  pressed  upward  again  and  again.  The 
trap  was  immovable. 

Light.  She  turned,  to  behold  Karlov  in  the  door- 
way, a  candlestick  in  his  hand. 

"The  scuttle  is  covered  with  cement,  Miss  Con- 
over.  Nobody  can  get  in  or  out." 

Kitty  got  down,  her  knees  uncertain.  If  he 
touched  her!  Oh,  the  fool  she  had  been! 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me?"  she  asked 
through  dry  lips. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  339 

"You  are  to  me  a  bill  of  exchange,  payable  in 
something  more  precious  to  me  than  gold.  I  am 
going  to  keep  you  here  until  you  are  ransomed. 
The  ransom  is  the  man  you  have  been  shielding. 
If  he  isn't  here  by  midnight  you  vanish.  Oh,  we 
shan't  harm  you.  Merely  you  will  disappear  until 
my  affairs  in  America  are  terminated.  You  are 
clever  and  resourceful  for  so  young  a  woman.  You 
will  understand  that  we  are  not  going  to  turn  aside. 
You  are  not  a  woman  to  me;  you  are  a  valuable  pawn. 
You  are  something  to  bargain  for." 

"I  understand,"  said  Kitty,  her  heart  trying  to 
burst  through.  It  seemed  impossible  that  Karlov 
should  not  hear  the  thunder.  To  placate  him,  to 
answer  his  questions,  to  keep  him  from  growing 
angry! 

"I  thought  you  would."  Karlov  set  the  candle 
on  Kitty's  impromptu  stepladder.  "We  saw  your 
interest  in  the  affair,  and  attacked  you  on  that  side. 
You  had  seen  me  once.  Being  a  newspaper  writer— 
the  New  York  kind — you  would  not  rest  until  you 
learned  who  I  was.  You  would  not  forget  me.  You 
were  too  well  guarded  uptown.  You  have  been  out 
of  the  city  for  a  week.  We  could  not  find  where. 
You  were  reported  seen  entering  your  office  this 
morning;  and  here  you  are.  My  one  fear  was  that 
you  might  not  see  me.  Personally  you  will  have  no 
cause  to  worry.  No  hand  shall  touch  you." 

"Thank  you  for  that." 


840  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Don't  misunderstand.  There  is  no  sentiment 
behind  this  promise.  I  imagine  your  protector 
will  sacrifice  much  for  your  sake.  Simply  it  is  un- 
necessary to  offer  you  any  violence.  Do  you  know 
who  the  man  is  your  protector  is  shielding?" 

Kitty  shook  her  head. 

"Has  he  played  the  fiddle  for  you?" 

"Yes." 

Karlov  smiled.     "Did  you  dance?" 

"Dance?     I  don't  understand." 

"No  matter.  He  can  play  the  fiddle  nearly  as 
well  as  his  master.  The  two  of  them  have  gone 
across  the  world  fiddling  the  souls  of  women  out  of 
their  bodies." 

Kitty  sat  down  weakly  on  the  plank.  Terror 
from  all  points.  Karlov's  unexcited  tones — his  lack 
of  dramatic  gesture — convinced  her  that  this  was 
deadly  business.  Terror  that  for  all  the  promise 
of  immunity  they  might  lay  hands  on  her.  Terror 
for  Johnny  Two-Hawks,  for  Cutty. 

"Has  he  injured  you?"  she  asked,  to  gain  time. 

"He  is  an  error  in  chronology.  He  represents 
an  idea  which  no  longer  exists."  He  spoke  English 
fluently,  but  with  a  rumbling  accent. 

"  But  to  kill  him  for  that ! " 

"Kill  him?  My  dear  young  lady,  I  merely  want 
him  to  fiddle  for  me,"  said  Karlov  with  another  smile. 

"You  tried  to  kill  him,"  insisted  Kitty,  the  dry- 
ness  beginning  to  leave  her  throat. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  341 

"Bungling  agents.     Do  you  know  what  became  of 
them — the  two  who  invaded  your  bedroom?" 
"They  were  taken  away  by  the  police." 
"  So  I  thought.     What  became  of  the  wallet?  " 
"I  found  it  hidden  on  the  back  of  my  stove." 
"I  never  thought  to  look  there,"  said  Karlov, 
musingly.     "Who  has  the  drums?" 

"  The  emeralds  ?  You  haven't  them ! "  cried  Kitty, 
becoming  her  mother's  daughter,  though  her  heart 
never  beat  so  thunderously  as  now.  "We  thought 
you  had  them!" 

Karlov  stared  at  her,  moodily.  "What  is  that 
button  for,  at  the  side  of  your  bed?" 

Kitty  comprehended  the  working  of  the  mind  that 
formulated  this  question.  If  she  answered  this 
truthfully  he  would  accept  all  her  statements.  "It 
rings  an  alarm  in  the  basement." 

Karlov  nodded.  "You  are  truthful  and  sensible. 
I  haven't  the  emeralds." 

"Perhaps  one  of  your  men  betrayed  you." 
"I  have  thought  of  that.     But  if  he  had  betrayed 
me  the  drums  would  have  been  discovered  by  the 
police.     .     .     .     Damn  them  to  hell!"    Kitty  won- 
dered whether  he  meant  the  police  or  the  emeralds. 
"Later,  food  and  a  blanket  will  be  brought  to  you. 
If  your  ramson  does  not  appear  by  midnight  you  will 
be  taken  away.     If  you  struggle  we  may  have  to 
handle  you  roughly.     That  is  as  you  please." 
Karlov  went  out,  locking  the  door. 


342  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Oh,  the  blind  little  fool  she  had  been!  All  those 
constant  warnings,  and  she  had  not  heeded !  Cutty 
had  warned  her  repeatedly,  so  had  Bernini;  and  she 
had  deliberately  walked  into  this  trap.  As  if  this 
cold,  murderous  madman  would  risk  showing  himself 
without  some  grim  and  terrible  purpose.  She  had 
written  either  Cutty's  or  Johnny  Two-Hawks5 
death  warrant.  She  covered  her  eyes.  It  was 
horrible. 

Perhaps  not  Cutty,  but  assuredly  Two-Hawks. 
His  life  for  her  liberty. 

"And  he  will  come!"  she  whispered. 

She  knew  it.  How,  was  not  to  be  analyzed.  She 
just  knew  that  he  would  come.  What  if  he  had 
smiled  like  that!  The  European  point  of  view  and 
her  own  monumental  folly.  He  would  come  quietly, 
without  protest,  and  give  himself  up. 

"God  forgive  me!  What  can  I  do?  What  can 
I  do?" 

She  slid  to  the  floor  and  rocked  her  body.  Her 
fault!  He  would  come — even  as  Cutty  would  have 
come  had  he  been  the  man  demanded.  And  Karlov 
would  kill  him — because  he  was  an  error  in  chronol- 
ogy! She  sensed  also  that  the  anarchist  would  not 
look  upon  his  act  as  murder.  He  would  be  removing 
an  obstacle  from  the  path  of  his  sick  dreams. 

Comparisons!  She  saw  how  much  alike  the  two 
were.  Cutty  was  only  Johnny  Two-Hawks  at  fifty- 
two — fearless  and  whimsical.  Had  Cutty  gone 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  343 

through  life  without  looking  at  some  woman  as,  last 
night,  Two-Hawks  had  looked  at  her?  All  the  rest 
of  her  life  she  would  see  Two-Hawks'  eyes. 

Abysmal  fool,  to  pit  her  wits  against  such  men  as 
Karlov !  Because  she  had  been  successful  to  a  certain 
extent,  she  had  overrated  her  cleverness,  with  this 
tragic  result.  ...  He  had  fiddled  the  soul  out 
of  her.  But  death! 

She  sprang  up.  It  was  maddening  to  sit  still, 
to  feel  the  approach  of  the  tragedy  without  being 
able  to  prevent  it.  She  investigated  the  windows. 
No  hope  in  this  direction.  It  was  rapidly  growing 
dark  outside.  What  time  was  it? 

The  door  opened.  A  man  she  had  not  seen  before 
came  in  with  a  blanket,  a  pitcher  of  water,  and  some 
graham  crackers.  His  fingers  were  stained  a  bril- 
liant yellow  and  a  peculiar  odour  emanated  from  his 
clothes.  He  did  not  speak  to  her,  but  set  the  articles 
on  the  floor  and  departed. 

Kitty  did  not  stir.  An  hour  passed;  she  sat  as 
one  in  a  trance.  The  tallow  dip  was  sinking.  By 
and  by  she  became  conscious  of  a  fault  sound,  a  tap- 
ping. Whence  it  came  she  could  not  tell.  She 
moved  about  cautiously,  endeavouring  to  locate  it. 
When  she  finally  did  the  blood  drummed  in  her  ears. 
The  trap!  Someone  was  trying  to  get  in  through  the 
trap! 

Cutty!  Thus  soon!  Who  else  could  it  be?  She 
hunted  for  a  piece  of  lumber  light  enough  to  raise 


344  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

to  the  trap.  She  tapped  three  times,  and  waited. 
Silence.  She  repeated  the  signal.  This  time  it  was 
answered.  Cutty!  In  a  little  while  she  would  be 
free,  and  Two-Hawks  would  not  have  to  pay  for  her 
folly  with  his  life.  Terror  and  remorse  departed 
forthwith. 

She  took  the  plank  to  the  door  and  pushed  one 
end  under  the  door  knob.  Then  she  piled  the  other 
planks  against  the  butt.  The  moment  she  heard 
steps  on  the  stairs  she  would  stand  on  the  planks. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  open  that  door.  She  sat 
down  on  the  planks  to  wait.  From  time  to  time  she 
built  up  the  falling  tallow.  Cutty  must  have  light. 
The  tapping  on  the  trap  went  on.  They  were  break- 
ing away  the  cement.  Perhaps  an  hour  passed.  At 
least  it  seemed  a  very  long  time. 

Steps  on  the  stairs !  She  stood  up,  facing  the  door, 
the  roots  of  her  hair  tingling.  She  heard  the  key 
turn  in  the  lock;  and  then  as  in  a  nightmare  she  felt 
the  planks  under  her  feet  stir  slightly  but  with  sinister 
persistence.  She  presently  saw  the  toe  of  a  boot 
insert  itself  between  the  door  and  the  jamb.  The 
pressure  increased;  the  space  between  the  door  and 
the  jamb  widened.  Suddenly  the  boot  vanished, 
the  door  closed,  and  the  plank  fell.  Immediately 
thereafter  Karlov  stood  inside  the  room,  scowling 
suspiciously. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

CUTTY  arrived  at  the  apartment  in  time  to 
share  dinner  with  Hawksley.    He  had  wisely 
decided  to  say  nothing  about  the  escapade 
of  Hawksley  and  Kitty  Conover,  since  it  had  termi- 
nated fortunately.     Bernini  had  telegraphed  the  gist 
of   the   adventure.     He   could   readily   understand 
Hawksley's  part;  but  Kitty's  wasn't  reducible  to 
ordinary  terms  of  expression.     The  young  chap  had 
run  wild  because  his  head  still  wobbled  on  his  should- 
ers and  because  his  isolation  was  beginning  to  scratch 
his  nerves.     But  for  Kitty  to  run  wild  with  him 
offered  a  blank  wall  to  speculation.     (As  if  he  could 
solve  the  riddle  when  Kitty  herself  could  not!)     So 
he  determined  to  shut  himself  up  in  his  study  and 
shuffle  the  chrysoprase.     Something  might  come  of 
it.     Looking  backward,  he  recognized   the  salient; 
at  no  time  had  he  been  quite  sure  of  Kitty.     She 
seemed  to  be  a  combination  of  shallows  and  unfath- 
omable deeps. 

From  the  Pennsylvania  Station  he  had  called  up 
the  office.  Kitty  had  gone.  Bernini  informed  him 
that  Kitty  was  dining  at  a  cafe  on  the  way  home. 
Cutty  was  thorough.  He  telephoned  the  restaur- 

345 


346  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

ant  and  was  advised  that  Miss  Conover  had  reserved 
a  table.  He  had  forgotten  to  send  down  the  opera- 
tive who  guarded  Kitty  at  that  end.  But  the  dis- 
tance from  the  office  to  the  Subway  was  so  insig- 
nificant! 

"You  arc  looking  fit,"  he  said  across  the  table. 

"Ought  to  be  off  your  hands  by  Monday.  But 
what  about  Stefani  Gregor?  I  can't  stir,  leaving  him 
hanging  on  a  peg." 

"I  am  going  into  the  study  shortly  to  decide  that. 
Head  bother  you?" 

"  Occasionally." 

"Ryan  easy  to  get  along  with?" 

"Rather  a  good  sort.  I  say,  you  know,  you've 
seen  a  good  deal  of  life.  Which  do  you  consider  the 
stronger,  the  inherited  traits  or  environment?  " 

"Environment.  That  is  the  true  mould.  There 
is  good  and  bad  in  all  of  us.  It  is  brought  into  prom- 
inence by  the  way  we  live.  An  angel  cannot  touch 
pitch  without  becoming  defiled.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  worst  gutter  rats  in  the  world  saved  France. 
Do  you  suppose  that  thought  will  not  always  be 
tugging  at  and  uplifting  those  who  returned  from  the 
first  Marne?" 

"There  is  hope,  then,  for  me!" 

"Hope?" 

"Yes.  You  know  that  my  father,  my  uncle,  and 
my  grandfather  were  fine  scoundrels." 

"Under  their  influence  you  would  have  been  one, 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  347 

too.  But  no  man  could  live  with  Stefani  Gregor  and 
not  absorb  his  qualities.  Your  environment  has 
been  Anglo-Saxon,  where  the  first  block  in  the  picture 
is  fair  play.  You  have  been  constantly  under  the 
tutelage  of  a  fine  and  lofty  personality,  Gregorys. 
Whatever  evil  traits  you  may  have  inherited,  they 
have  become  subject  to  the  influences  that  have  sur- 
rounded you.  Take  me,  for  instance.  I  was  born 
in  a  rather  puritanical  atmosphere.  My  environ- 
ments have  always  been  good.  Yet  there  lurks 
in  me  the  taint  of  Macaire.  Given  the  wrong  envir- 
onment, I  should  now  have  my  picture  in  the  Rogues' 
Gallery." 

"You?" 

"Yes." 

Hawksley  played  with  his  fork.  "If  you  had  a 
daughter  would  you  trust  me  with  her?" 

"Yes.  Any  man  who  can  weep  unashamed  over 
the  portrait  of  his  mother  may  be  trusted.  Once 
you  are  out  there  in  Montana  you'll  forget  all  about 
your  paternal  forbears." 

Handsome  beggar,  thought  Cutty;  but  evidently 
born  under  the  opal.  An  inexplicable  resentment 
against  his  guest  stirred  his  heart.  He  resented 
his  youth,  his  ease  of  manner,  his  fluency  in  the  com- 
mon tongue.  He  was  theoretically  a  Britisher;  he 
thought  British;  approached  subjects  from  a  British 
point  of  view.  A  Britisher — except  when  he  had 
that  fiddle  tucked  under  his  chin.  Then  Cutty  ad- 


348  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

mitted  he  did  not  know  what  he  was.  Devil  take 
him! 

There  must  have  been  something  electrical  in 
Cutty's  resentment,  for  the  object  of  it  felt  it  subtly, 
and  it  fired  his  own.  He  resented  the  freedom  of 
action  that  had  always  been  denied  him,  resented 
his  host's  mental  and  physical  superiority.  Did 
Cutty  care  for  the  girl,  or  was  he  playing  the  game  as 
it  had  been  suggested  to  him?  Money  and  freedom. 
But  then,  it  was  in  no  sense  a  barter;  she  would  be 
giving  nothing,  and  the  old  beggar  would  be  asking 
nothing.  His  suggestion!  He  laughed. 

"What's  the  joke?"  asked  Cutty,  looking  up  from 
his  coffee,  which  he  was  stirring  with  unnecessary 
vigour. 

"It  isn't  a  joke.  I'm  bally  well  twisted.  I  laugh 
now  when  I  think  of  something  tragic.  I  am  sorry 
about  last  night.  I  was  mad,  I  suppose." 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

Cutty  listened  intently  and  smiled  occasionally. 
Mad  as  hatters,  both  of  them.  He  and  Kitty  couldn't 
have  gone  on  a  romp  like  this,  but  Kitty  and  Hawks- 
ley  could.  Thereupon  his  resentment  boiled  up 
again. 

"Have  you  any  idea  why  she  took  such  a  risk? 
Why  she  came  here,  knowing  me  to  be  absent?  " 

"She  spoke  of  a  problem.  I  fancy  it  related  to 
your  approaching  marriage.  She  told  me." 

Cutty  laid  down  his  spoon.     "I'd  like  to  dump 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  349 

Your  Highness  into  the  middle  of  East  River  for 
putting  that  idea  into  my  head.  She  has  consented 
to  it;  and  now,  damn  it,  I've  got  to  back  out  of  it!" 
Cutty  rose  and  flung  down  his  napkin. 

"Why?"  asked  the  bewildered  Hawksley. 

"Because  there  is  in  me  the  making  of  a  first-rate 
scoundrel,  and  I  never  should  have  known  it  if  you 
and  your  affairs  hadn't  turned  up." 

Cutty  entered  his  study  and  slammed  the  door, 
leaving  Hawksley  prey  to  so  many  conflicting 
emotions  that  his  head  began  to  bother  him.  Back 
out  of  it!  Why?  Why  should  Kitty  have  a  prob- 
lem to  solve  over  such  a  marriage  of  convenience, 
and  why  should  the  old  thoroughbred  want  to  back 
out? 

Kitty  would  be  free,  then?  A  flash  of  fire,  which 
subsided  quickly  under  the  smothering  truth.  What 
if  she  were  free?  He  could  not  ask  her  to  be  his 
wife.  Not  because  of  last  night's  madness.  That 
no  longer  troubled  him.  She  was  the  sort  who 
would  understand,  if  he  told  her.  She  had  a  soul 
big  with  understanding.  It  was  that  he  walked  in 
the  shadow  of  death,  and  would  so  long  as  Karlov 
was  free;  and  he  could  not  ask  any  woman  to  share 
that. 

He  pushed  back  his  chair  slowly.  In  the  living 
room  he  took  the  Amati  from  its  case  and  began  im- 
provising. What  the  chrysoprase  did  for  Cutty  the 
fiddle  did  for  this  derelict — solved  problems. 


350  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

He  reviewed  all  the  phases  as  he  played.  That 
dish  of  bacon  and  eggs,  the  resolute  air  of  her,  that 
popping  fan !  [Allegretto.]  She  had  found  him  sense- 
less on  the  floor.  She  had  had  the  courage  to  come  to 
his  assistance.  [Andante  con  espressione.]  What  had 
been  in  her  mind  that  night  she  had  taken  flight 
from  his  bedroom,  after  having  given  him  the 
wallet?  Something  like  tears.  What  about?  An 
American  girl,  natural,  humorous,  and  fanciful. 
Somehow  he  felt  assured  that  it  had  not  been  his 
kisses;  she  had  looked  into  his  eyes  and  seen  the  taint. 
Always  there,  the  beast  that  old  Stefani  had  chained 
and  subdued.  He  knew  now  that  this  beast  would 
never  again  lift  its  head.  And  he  had  let  her  go  with- 
out a  sign.  [Dolorosomente.]  To  have  gone  through 
life  with  a  woman  who  would  have  understood  his 
nature.  The  test  of  her  had  been  last  night  in  the 
streets.  His  mood  had  been  hers.  [Allegretto  con 
amore.] 

"Love,"  he  said,  lowering  the  bow. 

"Love,"  said  Cutty,  shifting  his  chrysoprase. 
There  was  no  fool  like  an  old  fool.  It  did  not  serve 
to  recall  Molly  in  all  her  glory,  to  reach  hither  and 
yon  for  a  handhold  to  pull  him  out  of  this  morass. 
Molly  had  become  an  invisible  ghost.  He  loved  her 
daughter.  Double  sunset;  the  phenomenon  of  the 
Indian  Ocean  was  now  being  enacted  upon  his  own 
horizon.  Double  sunset. 

But  why  should  Kitty  have  any  problem  to  solve? 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  351 

Why  should  she  dodder  over  such  a  trifle  as  this 
prospective  official  marriage?  It  was  only  a  joke 
which  would  legalize  his  generosity.  She  had  sent 
that  telegram  after  leaving  this  apartment.  What 
had  happened  here  to  decide  her?  Had  Hawksley 
fiddled?  There  was  something  the  matter  with  the 
green  stones  to-night;  they  evoked  nothing. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  listening,  the  bowl  of 
his  pipe  touching  the  lapel  of  his  coat.  Music. 
Queer,  what  you  could  do  with  a  fiddle  if  you  knew 
how. 

After  all  there  was  no  sense  in  venting  his  anger  on 
Hawksley.  He  was  hoist  by  his  own  petard.  Why 
not  admit  the  truth?  He  had  had  a  crack  on  the 
head  the  same  night  as  Hawksley;  only,  he  had  been 
struck  by  an  idea,  often  more  deadly  than  the  butt 
of  a  pistol.  He  would  apologize  for  that  roaring 
exit  from  the  dining  room.  The  poor  friendless 
devil !  He  bent  toward  the  green  stones  again. 

In  the  living  room  Hawksley  sat  in  a  chair,  the 
fiddle  across  his  knees.  He  understood  now.  The 
old  chap  was  in  love  with  the  girl,  and  was  afraid 
of  himself;  couldn't  risk  having  her  and  letting  her 
go.  ...  A  curse  on  the  drums  of  jeopardy! 
Misfortune  followed  their  wake  always.  The  world 
would  have  been  different  this  hour  if  he — 

The  break  in  the  trend  of  thought  was  caused  by 
the  entrance  of  Kuroki,  who  was  followed  by  a  man. 
This  man  dropped  into  a  chair  without  apparently 


352  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

noticing  that  the  room  was  already  tenanted,  for  he 
never  glanced  toward  Hawksley.  A  haggard  face, 
dull  of  eye.  Kuroki  bobbed  and  vanished,  but  re- 
turned shortly,  beckoning  the  stranger  to  follow  him 
into  the  study. 

"Coles?"  cried  Cutty  delightedly.  Here  was  the 
man  he  had  sent  to  negotiate  for  the  emeralds,  free. 
"How  did  you  escape?  We've  combed  the  town  for 
you." 

"They  had  me  in  a  room  on  Fifteenth  Street. 
Once  in  a  while  I  got  something  to  eat.  But  I 
haven't  escaped.  I'm  still  a  prisoner." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

"I  am  here  as  an  emissary.  There  was  nothing 
for  me  to  do  but  accept  the  job." 

"Did  he  have  the  stones?"  asked  Cutty,  without 
the  least  suspicion  of  what  was  coming. 

"That  I  don't  know.  He  pretended  to  have  them 
in  order  to  get  me  where  he  wanted  me.  I've  been 
hungry  a  good  deal  because  I  wouldn't  talk.  I'm 
here  as  a  negotiator.  A  rotten  business.  I  agreed 
because  I've  hopes  you'll  be  able  to  put  one  over  on 
Karlov.  It's  the  girl." 

"Kitty?" 

"Karlov  has  her.  The  girl  wasn't  to  blame. 
Any  one  in  the  game  would  have  done  as  she  did. 
Karlov  is  bugs  on  politics;  but  he's  shrewd  enough  at 
this  sort  of  game.  He  trapped  the  girl  because  he'd 
studied  her  enough  to  learn  what  she  would  or  would 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  353 

not  do.  Now  they  are  not  going  to  hurt  her.  They 
merely  propose  exchanging  her  for  the  man  you've 
been  hiding  up  here.  There's  a  taxi  downstairs. 
It  will  carry  me  back  to  Fifteenth;  then  it  will  return 
and  wait.  If  the  man  is  not  at  the  appointed  place 
by  midnight — he  must  go  in  this  taxi — the  girl  will 
be  carried  off  elsewhere,  and  you'll  never  lay  eyes 
on  her  again.  Karlov  and  his  gang  are  potential 
assassins;  all  they  want  is  excuse.  Until  midnight 
they  will  not  touch  the  girl;  but  after  midnight,  God 
knows !  What  message  am  I  to  take  back?  " 

"Do  you  know  where  she  is?" 

Cutty  spoke  without  much  outward  emotion. 

"Not  the  least  idea.  Whenever  Karlov  wanted  to 
quiz  me,  he  appeared  late  at  night  from  some  other 
part  of  the  town.  But  he  never  got  much." 

"You  saw  him  this  evening?" 

"Yes.  It  probably  struck  him  as  a  fine  joke  to 
send  me." 

"And  if  you  don't  go  back?" 

"The  girl  will  be  taken  away.  I'm  honestly  afraid 
of  the  man.  He's  too  quiet  spoken.  That  kind  of 
a  man  always  goes  the  limit." 

"I  see.     Wait  here." 

At  Cutty's  approach  Hawksley  looked  up  apathet- 
ically. 

"Want  me?" 

"Perhaps." 

"  You  are  pale.     Anything  serious  ?  " 


354  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Yes.    Karlov  has  got  Kitty.  " 

For  a  minute  Hawksley  did  not  stir.  Then  he  got 
up,  put  away  the  Amati,  and  came  back.  He  was 
pale,  too. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said.  "  They  will  exchange  her 
forme.  Am  I  right?" 

"Yes.  But  you  are  not  obliged  to  do  anything  like 
that,  you  know." 

"I  am  ready." 

"You  give  yourself  up?" 

"Wnynot?" 

"You're  a  man!"  Cutty  burst  out. 

"I  was  brought  up  by  one.  Honestly,  now, 
could  I  ever  look  a  white  man  in  the  face  again  if  I 
didn't  give  myself  up?  I  did  begin  to  believe  that 
I  might  get  through.  But  Fate  was  only  playing 
with  me.  May  I  use  your  desk  to  write  a  line?  " 

"Come  with  me,"  said  Cutty,  unsteadily.  This 
was  not  the  result  of  environment.  Quiet  courage 
of  this  order  was  race.  No  questions  demanding  if 
there  wasn't  some  way  round  the  inevitable.  Cut- 
ty's heart  glowed;  the  boy  had  walked  into  it,  never 
to  leave  it.  "I'm  ready."  It  took  a  man  to  say 
that  when  the  sequence  was  death. 

"Coles,"  said  Cutty  upon  reentering  the  study, 
"tell  Karlov  that  His  Highness  will  give  himself  up. 
He  will  be  there  before  midnight." 

"That's  enough  for  me.  But  if  there's  the  least 
sign  that  you're  not  playing  straight  it  will  be  all  off. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  355 

Two  men  will  be  watching  the  taxi  and  tne  entrance. 
If  you  appear,  it's  good-night.  They  told  me  to 
warn  you." 

"I  promise  not  to  appear." 

Coles  smiled  enigmatically  and  reached  for  his  hat. 
He  held  his  hand  out  to  Hawksley.  "You're  a 
white  man,  sir." 

"Thanks,"  said  Hawksley,  absently.  To  have  it 
all  over  with! 

As  soon  as  the  captive  Federal  agent  withdrew 
Hawksley  sat  down  at  the  desk  and  wrote. 

"Will  this  hold  legally?"  he  asked,  extending  the 
written  sheet  to  Cutty. 

Cutty  saw  that  it  was  a  simple  will.  In  it  Hawks- 
ley  gave  half  of  his  possessions  to  Kitty  and  half 
to  Stefani  Gregor.  In  case  the  latter  was  dead  the 
sum  total  was  to  go  to  Kitty. 

"I  got  you  into  a  muddle;  this  will  take  you  out 
of  it.  Karlov  will  kill  me.  I  don't  know  how.  I 
am  his  obsession.  He  will  sleep  better  with  me  off 
his  mind.  Will  this  hold  legally?  " 

"Yes.     But  why  Kitty  Conover,  a  stranger?" 

"Is  a  woman  who  saves  your  life  a  stranger?" 

"Well,  not  exactly.  This  is  what  we  might  call 
zero  hour.  I  gave  you  a  haven  here  not  particularly 
because  I  was  sorry  for  you,  but  because  I  wanted 
those  emeralds.  Once  upon  a  time  Gregor  showed 
them  to  me.  Until  I  examined  your  wallet  I  sup- 
posed you  had  smuggled  in  the  stones;  and  that  would 


356  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

have  been  fair  game.  But  you  had  paid  your  way 
in  honestly.  Now,  what  did  you  do  to  Kitty  Conover 
last  night  that  decided  her  to  accept  that  fool  prop- 
osition? She  sent  her  acceptance  after  she  left  you. 

"I  did  not  know  that.  I  played  for  her.  She 
became  music-struck,  and  I  took  advantage  of  it — 
kissed  her.  Then  she  told  me  she  was  going  to 
marry  you." 

"  And  that  is  why  you  asked  me  if  I  would  trust  you 
with  a  daughter  of  mine?  " 
"Yes." 

"Conscience.    That  explains  this  will." 
"No.    Why  did   you   accept  my   suggestion  to 
marry  her?" 

"To  make  her  comfortable  without  sidestepping 
the  rules  of  convention." 

"No.    Because  you  love  her — the  way  I  do." 
Cutty's  pipe  slipped  from  his  teeth.    It  did  not 
often  do  that.    He  stamped  out  the  embers  and 
laid  the  pipe  on  the  tray. 

"What  makes  you  think  I  love  her?" 
"What  makes  me  tell  you  that  I  do?" 
"Yes,  death  may  be  at  the  end  of  to-night's  work; 
so  I'll  admit  that  I  love  her.     She  is  like  a  forest 
stream,  wild  at  certain  turns,  but  always  sweet  and 
clear.     I'm  an  old  fool,  old  enough  to  be  her  father. 
I  loved  her  mother.     Can  a  man  love  two  women 
with  all  his  heart,  one  years  after  the  other?  " 

"It  is  the  avatar;  she  is  the  reincarnation  of  the 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  357 

mother.  I  understand  now.  What  was  a  beautiful 
memory  takes  living  form  again.  You  still  love  the 
mother;  the  daughter  has  revived  that  love." 

"By  the  Lord  Harry,  I  believe  you've  struck  it! 
Walked  into  the  fog  and  couldn't  find  the  way  out. 
Of  course.  What  an  old  ass  I've  been!  Simple  as 
daylight.  I've  simply  fallen  in  love  with  Molly  all 
over  again,  thinking  it  was  Kitty.  Plain  as  the  nose 
on  my  face.  And  I  might  have  made  a  fine  mess  of 
it  if  you  hadn't  waked  me  up." 

All  this  gentle  irony  went  over  Hawksley's  head. 
"When  do  you  wish  me  to  go  down  to  the  taxi?" 

"Son,  I'm  beginning  to  like  you.  You  shall  have 
your  chance.  In  fact,  we'll  take  it  together.  There'll 
be  a  taxi  but  I'll  hire  it.  I'm  quite  positive  I  know 
where  Kitty  is.  If  I'm  correct  you'll  have  your 
chance.  If  I'm  wrong  you'll  have  to  pay  the  score. 
We'll  get  her  out  or  we'll  stay  where  she  is.  In 
any  event,  Karlov  will  pay  the  price.  Wouldn't 
you  prefer  to  go  out — if  you  must — in  a  glorious 
scrap?" 

"Fighting?"  Hawksley  was  on  his  feet  instantly. 
•" Do  you  mean  that?  I  can  die  with  free  hands? " 

"  With  a  chance  of  coming  out  top-hole." 

"I  say,  what  a  ripping  thing  hope  is— always 
springing  back!" 

Cutty  nodded.     But  he  knew  there  was  one  hope 
that  would  never  warm  his  heart  again.  Molly! 
Well,  he'd  let  the  young  chap  believe  that.    Kitty 


358  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

must  never  know.  Poor  little  chick,  fighting  with 
her  soul  in  the  dark  and  not  knowing  what  the  matter 
was!  Such  things  happened.  He  had  loved  Molly 
on  sight.  He  had  loved  Kitty  on  sight.  In  neither 
case  had  he  known  it  until  too  late  to  turn  about. 
Mother  and  daughter;  a  kind  of  sacrilege,  as  if  he  had 
betrayed  Molly!  But  what  a  clear  vision  acknowl- 
edged love  lent  to  the  mind!  He  understood  Kitty, 
who  did  not  understand  herself.  Well,  this  night's 
adventure  would  decide  things. 

He  smiled.  Neither  Kitty  nor  the  drums  of  jeo- 
pardy; nothing.  The  gates  of  paradise  again — for 
somebody  else!  Whoever  heard  of  a  prompter  re- 
ceiving press  notices? 

"Let's  look  alive!  We  haven't  any  time  to  waste. 
We'll  have  to  change  to  dungarees — engineer  togs. 
There'll  be  some  tools  to  carry.  We  go  straight 
down  to  the  boiler  room.  We  come  up  the  ash  exit 
on  the  street  side.  Remember,  no  suspicious  haste. 
Two  engineers  off  for  their  evening  swig  of  beer  at 
the  corner  groggery.  Through  the  side  door  there, 
and  into  my  taxi.  Obey  every  order  I  give.  Now 
run  along  to  Kuroki  and  say  night  work  for  both  of 
us.  He'll  understand  what's  wanted.  I'll  set  the 
machinery  in  motion  for  a  raid.  How  do  you  feel? 
I  want  the  truth.  I  don't  want  to  turn  to  you  for 
help  and  not  get  it." 

Hawksley  laughed.  "Don't  worry  about  me. 
I'll  carry  on.  Don't  you  understand?  To  have 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  359 

an  end  of  it,  one  way  or  the  other!    To  come  free 
or  to  die  there!" 

"And  if  Kitty  is  not  where  I  believe  her  to  be?" 
"Then  I'll  return  to  the  taxi  outside." 
To  be  young  like  that!  thought  Cutty,  feeling 
strangely  sad  and  old.     "To  come  free  or  to  die 
there!"     That  was  good  Anglo-Saxon.     He  would 
make  a  good  American  citizen — if  he  were  in  luck. 

At  half  after  nine  the  two  of  them  knelt  on  the  roof 
before  the  cemented  trap.  Nothing  but  raging  heat 
disintegrates  cement.  So  the  liberation  of  this  trap, 
considering  the  time,  was  a  Herculean  task,  because 
it  had  to  be  accomplished  with  little  or  no  noise. 
Cold  chisels,  fulcrums,  prying,  heaving,  boring.  To 
free  the  under  edge;  the  top  did  not  matter.  Not 
knowing  if  Kitty  were  below — that  was  the  worst 
part  of  the  job. 

The  sweat  of  agony  ran  down  Hawksley's  face; 
but  he  never  faltered.  He  was  going  to  die  to-night, 
somehow,  somewhere,  but  with  free  hands,  the  way 
Stefani  would  have  him  die,  the  way  the  girl  would 
have  him  die.  All  these  thousands  of  miles — to  die 
in  a  house  he  had  never  seen  before,  just  when  life 
was  really  worth  something! 

An  hour  went  by.     Then  they  heard  Kitty's  signal. 
Instinctively  the  two  of  them  knew  that  the  taps 
came  from  her.     They  were  absolutely  certain  when 
her  signal  was  repeated.     She  was  below,  alone. 
"Faster!"  whispered  Cutty. 


360  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Hawksley  smiled.  To  say  that  to  a  chap  when 
he  was  digging  into  his  tomb ! 

When  the  sides  of  the  trap  were  free  Cutty  tapped 
to  Kitty  again.  There  was  a  long,  agonizing  wait. 
Then  three  taps  came  from  below.  Cutty  flashed 
a  signal  to  the  warehouse  windows.  In  five  minutes 
the  raid  would  be  in  full  swing — from  the  roof,  from 
the  street,  from  the  cellar. 

With  their  short  crowbars  braced  by  stout  ful- 
crums  the  two  men  heaved.  Noise  did  not  matter 
now.  Presently  the  trap  went  over. 

"Look  out  for  your  hands;  there's  lots  of  loose 
glass.  And  together  when  we  drop." 

"Right-o!"  whispered  Hawksley,  assured  that 
when  he  dropped  through  the  trap  the  result  would  be 
oblivion.  Done  in. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

K \RLOV,  upon  forcing  his  way  past  Kitty's 
barricade,  stared  at  her  doubtfully.     This 
was  a  clever  girl;  she  had  proved  her  clever- 
ness frequently.     She  might  have  some  reason  other 
than  fear  in  keeping  him  out.     So  he  put  a  fresh 
candle  in  the  sconce  and  began  to  prowl.     He  pierced 
the  attic  windows  with  a  ranging  glance;  no  one  was 
in  the  yard  or  on  the  street.     The  dust  on  the  win- 
dows had  not  been  disturbed. 

To  Kitty  the  suspense  was  intolerable.  At  any 
moment  Cutty  might  tap  a  query  to  her.  How  to 
warn  him  that  all  was  not  well?  A  scream  would  do 
it;  but  in  that  event  when  Cutty  arrived  there  would 
be  no  Kitty  Conover.  Something  that  would  sound 
unusual  to  Cutty  and  accidental  to  Karlov.  She 
hit  upon  it.  She  seized  a  plank  from  her  barricade, 
raised  it  to  a  perpendicular  position,  then  flung  it 
down  violently.  Would  Cutty  hear  and  compre- 
hend that  she  was  warning  him?  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  Cutty  never  heard  the  crash,  for  at  that  particu- 
lar minute  he  was  standing  up  to  get  the  kinks  out  of 
his  knees. 

Karlov  whirled  on  his  heels,  ran  to  Kitty,  and 
snatched    her    wrist.     "Why    did    you    do    that?" 

361 


362  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Kitty  remained  mute.  "Answer!" — with  a  cruel 
twist. 

"You  hurt!"  she  gasped.  Anything  to  gain  time. 
She  tried  to  break  away. 

"Why  did  you  do  that?" 

"I  was  going  to  thrust  it  through  a  window  to 
attract  attention.  It  was  too  heavy." 

This  explanation  was  within  bounds  of  reason.  It 
is  possible  that  Karlov — who  had  merely  come  up 
with  a  fresh  candle — would  have  departed  but  for  a 
peculiarly  grim  burst  of  humour  on  the  part  of  Fate. 

Tap — tap — tap?  inquired  the  unsuspecting  man 
on  the  roof — exactly  to  Kitty  like  some  innocent, 
inquisitive  child  embarrassing  the  family  before 
company. 

Karlov  flung  her  aside  roughly,  stepped  under 
the  trap,  and  cupped  an  ear.  He  required  no  ex- 
planations from  Kitty,  who  shrank  to  the  wall  and 
remained  pinned  there  by  terror.  Karlov's  intuition 
was  keen.  Men  on  the  roof  held  but  one  signi- 
ficance. The  house  was  surrounded  by  Federal 
agents.  For  a  space  he  wavered  between  two  desires, 
the  political  and  the  private  vengeance. 

A  call  down  the  stairs,  and  five  minutes  afterward 
there  would  be  nothing  on  the  spot  but  a  jumble  of 
smoking  wood  and  brick.  But  not  to  see  them  die ! 

His  subsequent  acts,  cold  and  methodical,  fas- 
cinated Kitty.  He  took  a  step  toward  her.  The 
scream  died  in  her  throat.  But  he  did  not  go  be- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  363 

yond  that  step.  The  picture  of  her  terror  decided 
his  future  actions.  He  would  see  them  die,  here, 
with  the  girl  looking  on.  A  full  measure.  Well 
enough  he  knew  who  were  digging  away  the  cement 
of  the  trap.  What  gave  lodgment  to  this  conviction 
he  did  not  bother  to  analyze.  The  man  he  had  not 
yet  seen,  who  had  balked  him,  now  here,  now  there, 
from  that  first  night;  and  who  but  the  last  of  that 
branch  of  the  hated  house  should  be  with  him?  To 
rend,  batter,  crush,  kill!  If  he  were  bound  for  hell, 
to  go  there  with  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
his  private  vengeance  had  been  cancelled.  The  full 
reckoning  for  Anna's  degradation:  Stefani  Gregor, 
broken  and  dying,  and  all  the  others  dead ! 

He  would  shoot  them  as  they  dropped  through 
the  trap.  Not  to  kill,  but  to  maim,  render  helpless; 
then  he  would  taunt  them  and  grind  his  heels  in  their 
faces.  Up  there,  the  two  he  most  hated  of  all  living 
men! 

First  he  restored  Kitty's  barricade — to  keep  as- 
sistance from  entering  before  his  work  was  completed. 
The  butt  of  the  first  plank  he  pushed  under  the  door 
knob.  The  other  planks  he  laid  flat,  end  to  end,  with 
the  butt  of  the  last  snug  against  the  brick  chimney. 
The  door  would  never  give  as  a  whole;  it  would  have 
to  be  smashed  in  by  axes.  He  then  set  the  candle  on 
the  floor,  backed  by  an  up-ended  soapbox.  His 
enemies  would  drop  into  a  pool  of  light,  while  they 
would  not  be  able  to  see  him  at  once.  The  girl 


564  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

would  not  matter.  Her  terror  would  hold  her  for 
some  time.  These  manoeuvres  completed,  he  an- 
swered the  signal,  sat  down  on  another  box  and 
waited,  reminding  Kitty  of  some  grotesque  Mon- 
golian idol. 

Kitty  saw  the  inevitable.  Thereupon  her  terror 
ceased  to  bind  her.  As  Cutty  flung  back  the  trap 
she  would  cry  out  a  warning.  Karlov  might — and 
probably  would — kill  her.  Her  share  in  this  night's 
work — her  incredible  folly — required  full  payment. 
Having  decided  to  die  with  Cutty,  all  her  courage 
returned.  This  is  the  normal  result  of  any  sublime 
resolve.  But  with  the  return  of  her  courage  she 
evolved  another  plan.  She  measured  the  distance 
between  herself  and  Karlov,  calculating  there  would 
be  three  strides.  As  Cutty  dropped  she  would  fling 
herself  upon  the  madman.  The  act  would  at  least 
give  Cutty  something  like  equal  terms.  What  be" 
came  of  Kitty  Conover  thereafter  was  of  no  im- 
portance to  the  world. 

Sounds.  She  became  conscious  of  noises  else- 
where in  the  house.  The  floor  trembled.  There 
came  a  creaking  and  snapping  of  wood,  and  she  heard 
the  trap  fall.  Karlov  stood  up,  menacing,  terrible. 
She  saw  where  Cutty  would  drop,  and  now  under- 
stood the  cunning  of  the  manoeuvre  of  placing  the 
candle  in  front  of  the  soapbox.  Cutty  would  be  an 
absolute  mark  for  Karlov,  protected  by  the  shadow. 
She  set  herself,  as  a  runner  at  the  tape. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  365 

Karlov  was  not  the  type  criminal,  which  when 
cornered,  thinks  only  of  personal  safety.  He  was  a 
political  fanatic.  All  who  opposed  his  beliefs  must 
not  be  permitted  to  survive.  There  was  a  touch  of 
Torquemada  of  the  Inquisition  in  his  cosmos.  He 
could  not  kill  directly;  he  had  to  torture  first. 

He  knew  by  the  ascending  sounds  that  there  would 
be  no  way  out  of  this  for  him.  To  the  American, 
Russia  was  an  outlaw.  He  would  be  treated  as  a 
dangerous  alien  enemy  and  locked  up.  Boris  Kar- 
lov should  never  live  to  eat  his  heart  out  behind 
bars. 

Unique  angle  of  thought,  he  mused.  He  wanted 
mud  to  trample  them  in,  Russian  mud.  The  same 
mud  that  had  filled  the  mouth  of  Anna's  destroyer. 

He  was,  then,  a  formidable  antagonist  for  any  two 
strong  men;  let  alone  two  one  of  whom  was  rather 
spent,  the  other  dizzy  with  pain,  holding  himself  to- 
gether by  the  last  shreds  of  his  will.  They  dropped 
through  the  trap,  Cutty  in  front  of  the  candle,  Hawks- 
ley  a  little  to  one  side.  The  elder  man  landed 
squarely,  but  Hawksley  fell  backward.  He  crawled 
to  his  feet,  swaying  drunkenly.  For  a  space  he  was 
not  sure  of  the  reality  of  the  scene.  .  .  .  Torches 
and  hobnailed  boots! 

"So!  "said  Karlov. 

The  torturer  must  talk;  he  must  explain  the  im- 
mediate future  to  double  the  agony.  He  could  have 
maimed  them  both,  tnen  trampled  them  to  death, 


366  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

but  lie  had  to  inform  them  of  the  fact.  He  pointed 
the  automatic  at  Cutty  because  he  considered  this 
man  the  more  dangerous  of  the  two.  He  at  once 
saw  that  the  other  was  a  negligible  factor.  He  spoke 
slowly. 

"And  the  girl  shall  witness  your  agonies,"  he  con- 
cluded. 

Cutty,  bereft  of  invention,  could  only  stare. 
Death!  He  had  faced  it  many  times,  but  always 
with  a  chance.  There  was  none  here,  and  the  ab- 
solute knowledge  paralyzed  him. 

Had  Cutty  been  alone  Kitty  would  have  rushed 
at  the  madman;  but  the  sight  of  Hawksley  robbed 
her  of  all  mobility.  His  unexpected  appearance  was 
to  her  the  Book  of  Revelation.  The  blind  alley 
she  had  entered  and  reentered  so  many  times  and  so 
futilely  crumbled.  .  .  .  Johnny  Two-Hawks! 

As  for  Hawksley,  he  knew  he  had  but  little  time. 
The  floor  was  billowing;  he  saw  many  candles  where 
he  knew  there  was  only  one.  He  was  losing  his 
senses.  There  remained  but  a  single  idea — to  do  the 
old  thoroughbred  one  favour  for  the  many.  Scorn- 
ing death — perhaps  inviting  it — he  lunged  headlong 
at  Karlov's  knees. 

This  reckless  challenge  to  death  was  so  unex- 
pected that  Karlov  had  no  time  to  aim.  He  fired  at 
chance.  The  bullet  nipped  the  left  shoulder  of 
Hawksley's  coat  and  shattered  the  laths  of  the  parti- 
tion between  the  attic  and  the  servant's  quarters* 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  367 

Under  the  impact  of  the  human  catapult  Karlov 
staggered  back,  desperately  striving  to  maintain  his 
balance.  He  succeeded  because  Hawksley's  senses 
left  him  in  the  instant  he  struck  Karlov's  knees. 
Still,  the  episode  was  a  respite  for  Cutty,  who  dashed 
at  Karlov  before  the  latter  could  set  himself  or  raise 
the  smoking  automatic. 

Kitty  then  witnessed — dimly — a  primordial,  titanic 
conflict  which  haunted  her  dreams  for  many  nights 
to  come.  They  were  no  longer  men,  but  animals; 
the  tiger  giving  combat  to  the  gorilla,  one  striking 
the  quick,  terrible  blows  of  the  tiger,  the  other  seeking 
always  to  come  to  grips. 

The  floor  answered  under  the  step  and  rush.  Rare 
athletes,  these  two;  big  men  who  were  light  on  their 
feet.  Kitty  could  see  their  faces  occasionally  and  the 
flash  of  their  bare  hands,  but  of  their  bodies  little  or 
nothing.  Nor  could  she  tell  how  the  struggle  was 
going.  Indeed  until  the  idea  came  that  they  might 
be  trampling  Johnny  Two-Hawks  there  was  no 
coherent  thought  in  her  head,  only  broken  things. 

She  ran  to  the  soapbox  and  kicked  it  aside.  She 
saw  Hawksley  on  his  face,  motionless.  At  least  they1 
should  not  trample  his  dead  body.  She  caught  hold 
of  his  arms  and  dragged  him  to  the  wall — to  discover 
that  she  was  sobbing,  sobs  of  rage  and  despair  thatf 
tore  at  her  breast  horribly  and  clogged  her  throat. 
She  was  a  woman  and  could  not  help;  she  could  not 
help  Cutty !  She  was  a  woman,  and  all  she  could  do 


368  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

was  to  drag  aside  the  lifeless  body  of  the  man  who 
had  given  Cutty  his  chance! 

She  knelt,  turning  Hawksley  over  on  his  back. 
There  was  a  slight  gash  on  one  grimy  cheek,  possibly 
caused  by  contact  with  the  latchets  of  Karlov's 
boots.  She  raised  the  handsome  head,  pressed  it 
to  her  bosom,  and  began  to  sway  her  body  from  side 
to  side.  Tumult.  The  Federal  agents  were  throw- 
ing their  bodies  against  the  door  repeatedly.  In  the 
semi-darkness  Cutty  fought  for  his  life.  But  Kitty 
neither  heard  nor  saw.  The  world  had  suddenly 
contracted;  there  was  only  this  beautiful  head  in  her 
arms;  beyond  and  about,  nothing. 

Cutty  felt  his  strength  ebbing;  soon  he  would  not 
be  able  to  wrench  himself  loose  from  those  terrible 
arms.  He  knew  all  the  phases  of  the  fighting  game. 
Chivalry  and  fair  play  had  no  part  in  this  contest. 
Clear  light,  to  observe  what  his  blows  were  ac- 
complishing; a  minute  or  two  of  clear  light!  Half 
the  time  his  blows  glanced.  The  next  time  those 
arms  wound  about  him,  that  would  be  the  end.  He 
was  growing  tired,  winded;  he  had  not  gone  into  bat- 
tle fresh.  He  knew  that  many  of  his  blows  had  gone 
home.  Any  ordinary  man  would  have  dropped; 
but  Karlov  came  on  again  and  again. 

And  all  the  while  Karlov  was  not  fighting  Cutty; 
he  was  endeavouring  to  remove  him.  He  was  an 
obstacle.  What  Karlov  wanted  was  that  head  the 
girl  was  holding  hi  her  arms;  to  grind  his  heel  into  it. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  369 

Had  Cutty  stepped  aside  Karlov  would  have  rushed 
for  the  other  man. 

"Kitty,  the  door,  the  door!"  Cutty  shouted  in 
despair,  taking  a  terrible  kick  on  the  thigh.  "The 
door!" 

Kitty  did  not  stir. 

A  panel  in  the  door  crushed  in.  The  sole  of  a  boot 
appeared  and  vanished.  Then  an  arm  reached  in, 
groping,  touched  the  plank  propped  under  the  door 
knob,  wrenched  and  tugged  until  it  fell.  Immed- 
iately the  attic  became  filled  with  men.  It  was  time. 
Karlov  had  Cutty  in  his  arms. 

This  turn  in  the  affair  roused  Kitty.  Presently 
she  saw  men  in  a  snarl,  heaving  and  billowing,  with  a 
sudden  subsidence.  The  snarl  untangled  itself; 
men  began  to  step  back  and  produce  pocketlamps. 
Kitty  saw  Cutty's  face,  battered  and  bloody,  appear 
and  disappear  in  a  flash.  She  saw  Karlov's,  too,  as 
he  was  pulled  to  his  feet,  his  hands  manacled.  Again 
she  saw  Cutty.  With  shaking  hand  he  was  trying  to 
attach  the  loose  end  of  his  collar  to  the  button.  The 
absurdity  of  it ! 

"Take  him  away.  But  don't  be  rough  with 
him.  He's  only  a  poor  devil  of  a  madman,"  said 
Cutty. 

Karlov  turned  and  calmly  spat  into  Cutty's  face. 
A  dozen  fists  were  raised,  but  Cutty  intervened. 

"No!  Let  him  be.  Just  take  him  away  and  lock 
him  up.  He's  a  rough  road  to  travel  And  hustle 


370  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

a  comfortable  car  for  me  to  go  home  in.  Not  a  word 
to  the  newspapers.  This  isn't  a  popular  raid." 

As  soon  as  the  attic  was  cleared  Cutty  limped  over 
to  Molly  Conover's  daughter.  The  poor  innocent! 
The  way  she  was  holding  that  head  was  an  illumina- 
tion. With  a  reassuring  smile — an  effort,  for  his 
lips  were  puffed  and  burning — he  knelt  and  put  his 
hand  on  Hawksley's  heart. 

"Done  in,  Kitty;  that's  all." 

"He  isn't  dead?" 

"Lord,  no!  He  had  nine  lives,  this  chap,  and  only 
one  of  'em  missing  to  date.  But  I  had  no  right  to  let 
him  come.  I  thought  he  was  fairly  fit,  but  he  wasn't. 
Saved  my  life,  though.  Kitty,  your  Johnny  Two- 
Hawks  is  a  real  man;  how  real  I  did  not  know  until 
to-night.  He  has  earned  his  American  citizenship. 
Fights  like  he  fiddles — on  all  four  strings.  All  OUT 
troubles  are  at  an  end;  so  buck  up." 

"Alive?     He  is  alive?" 

The  wild  joy  in  her  voice!  "Yes,  ma'am;  and  we 
two  can  regularly  thank  him  for  being  alive  also. 
That  lunge  gave  me  my  chance.  He's  only  stunned. 
Perhaps  he'll  need  a  nurse  again.  Anyhow,  he'll  be 
coming  round  in  a  minute  or  two.  I'll  wager  the 
first  thing  he  does  is  to  smile.  I  should." 

Suddenly  Kitty  grew  strangely  shy.  She  became 
conscious  of  her  anomalous  position.  She  had  prom- 
ised to  marry  Cutty,  promised  herself  that  she 
would  be  his  true  wife — and  here  she  was,  holding 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  371 

another  man's  head  to  her  heart  as  if  it  were  the  most 
precious  head  in  all  the  world.  She  could  not  put 
that  head  upon  the  floor  at  once;  that  would  be  a 
confession  of  her  embarrassment;  and  yet  she  could 
not  continue  to  hold  Hawksley  while  Cutty  eyed  her 
with  semi-humorous  concern. 

Cutty  was  merciful,  however.  "Let  me  hold 
him  while  you  make  a  pillow  out  of  your  coat." 
After  he  had  laid  Hawksley's  head  on  the  coat  he 
said:  "He'll  come  about  quicker  this  way.  We've 
had  some  excitement,  haven't  we?" 

"I  don't  want  any  more,  Cutty;  never  any  more. 
I've  been  a  silly,  romantic  fool!" 

"Not  silly,  only  glorious." 

"Your  poor  face!" 

"Banged  up?  Well,  honestly,  it  feels  as  it  looks. 
Kitty,  this  chap  was  going  to  give  himself  up  in  ex- 
change for  you.  Not  a  word  of  protest,  not  a  ques- 
tion. All  he  said  was:  1  am  ready/  That's  why 
I'm  always  going  to  be  on  his  side." 

"He  did  that— forme?" 

"For  you.  Did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  you're 
the  sort  folks  always  want  to  do  things  for  if  you'll 
let  them?" 

"God  bless  you,  Cutty!" 

"He's  always  blessing  me,  Kitty.  He  blessed  me 
with  your  mother's  friendship,  now  yours.  Kitty, 
I'm  going  to  jilt  you." 

"Jilt  me?"— her  heart  leaping. 


372  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Yes,  ma'am.  We  can't  go  through  with  that 
mummery.  We  aren't  built  that  way.  I'll  figure 
it  out  in  some  other  fashion.  But  marriage  is  a 
sacred  contract;  and  this  farce  would  have  left  a  scar 
on  your  honest  mind.  You'd  have  to  tell  some  man. 
Your  kind  can't  go  through  life  without  being  loved. 
Would  he  understand?  I  wonder.  He'll  be  human 
or  you  wouldn't  fall  in  love  with  him;  and  always  he'll 
be  pondering  and  bedevilling  himself  with  queer 
ideas — because  he'll  be  human.  Of  course  there's  a 
loophole — you  can  sue  me  for  breach  of  promise." 

"Please,  Cutty;  don't  laugh!  You're  one  of  those 
men  they  call  Greathearts.  And  now  I'm  going  to 
tell  you  something.  It  wasn't  going  to  be  a  farce. 
I  intended  to  become  your  true  wife,  Cutty,  make 
you  as  happy  as  I  could." 

Cutty  patted  her  hand  and  got  up.  Lord,  how 
bruised  and  sore  his  old  body  was!  .  .  .  His 
true  wife!  She  might  have  been  his  if  he  had  not 
missed  that  train.  But  for  this  hour,  hot  with  life, 
she  might  never  have  discovered  that  she  loved 
Hawksley.  His  true  wife!  Ah,  she  would  have  been 
all  of  that— Molly's  girl! 

"  Will  you  mind  waiting  here  until  I  see  where  old 
Stefani  Gregor  is?" 

"No,"  answered  Kitty,  dreamily. 

Cutty  limped  to  the  door.  Outside  he  leaned 
against  the  partition.  Done  in,  body  and  soul. 
Always  opening  the  gates  of  paradise  for  somebody 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  373 

i 

else.     .     .     .     His  true  wife!    Slowly  he  descended 
the  stairs. 

Alone,  Kitty  smoothed  back  the  dank  hair  from 
Hawksley's  brow,  which  she  kissed.  Benediction 
and  good-bye. 


CHAPTER  XXXH 

BECAUSE  it  was  assumed  that  some  of  Kar- 
lov's  pack  might  be  at  large  and  unsuspect- 
ingly return  to  the  trap,  Federal  agents  would 
remain  on  guard  all  night.  They  explored  the  house, 
hunting  for  chemicals,  documents,  letters,  and  ad- 
dresses. They  found  enough  high  explosive  to  blow 
up  the  district.  And  they  found  Stefani  Gregor. 
They  were  standing  by  the  cot  as  Cutty  came  in. 

""Dead?" 

"Yes,  sir.     Just  this  minute  went  out." 

"Did  he  speak?" 

"A  woman's  name." 

"Rosa?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Looks  to  me  as  if  he  had  been  starved 
to  death.  Know  who  he  was?" 

"Yes.  Tell  the  coroner  to  be  gentle.  Once  upon 
a  time  Stefani  Gregor  spoke  to  kings  by  right  of 
genius." 

The  thought  that  he  himself  might  have  been  the 
indirect  cause  of  Gregor's  death  shocked  Cutty,  who 
was  above  all  things  tender. 

He  had  held  back  the  raid  for  several  days,  to 
serve  his  own  ends.  He  could  have  ordered  the  raid 
from  Washington,  and  it  would  have  gone  through 

374 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  375 

as  smoothly  as  to-night.  The  drums  of  jeopardy. 
Well,  that  phase  of  the  game  was  done  with.  He 
had  held  up  this  raid  so  that  he  might  be  on  hand  to 
search  Karlov;  and  until  now  he  had  forgotten  the 
drums.  Accurst!  They  were  accurst.  The  death 
of  Stefani  Gregor  would  always  be  on  his  con- 
science. 

Cutty  stared — not  very  clearly — at  the  cameo-like 
face  so  beautifully  calm.  As  in  life,  so  it  was  in 
death;  the  calm  that  had  brooked  and  beaten  down 
the  turbulent  instincts  of  the  boy,  the  imperturbable 
calm  of  a  great  soul.  Rosa.  The  sublime  unselfish- 
ness of  the  man !  He  had  sacrificed  wealth  and  fame 
for  the  love  of  the  boy's  mother — unspoken,  un- 
requited love,  the  quality  that  passes  understanding. 
And  his  reward:  to  die  on  this  cot,  in  horrid  loneli- 
ness. Rosa. 

All  at  once  Cutty  felt  himself  little,  trivial,  beside 
this  forlorn  bier.  What  did  he  know  about  love? 
He  had  never  made  any  sacrifices;  he  had  simply 
carried  in  his  heart  a  bittersweet  recollection.  But 
here!  Twenty-odd  years  of  unremitting  devotion  to 
the  son  of  the  woman  he  had  loved — Stefani  Gregor. 
Creating  environments  that  would  develop  the  noble 
qualities  in  the  boy,  interposing  himself  between  the 
boy  and  the  evil  pleasures  of  the  uncle,  teaching  him 
the  beautiful,  cleansing  his  soul  of  the  inherited  mud. 
Reverently  Cutty  drew  the  coverlet  over  the  fine  old 
head. 


376  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"What's  this?"  asked  one  of  the  operatives. 
"Looks  like  the  pieces  of  a  broken  fiddle." 

Out  of  those  dark  red  bits  of  wood — some  of  them 
bearing  the  imprints  of  hobnails — Cutty  constructed 
the  scene.  A  wave  of  bitter  rage  rolled  over  him. 
The  beast!  Karlov  had  done  this  thing,  with  poor 
old  Gregor  looking  on,  too  weak  to  intervene.  Not 
so  many  years  ago  these  bits  of  wood,  under  the 
master's  touch,  had  entranced  the  souls  of  thousands. 
Cutty  recalled  a  fairy  tale  he  had  read  when  a  boy 
about  a  prince  whose  soul  had  been  transformed  into 
a  flower  which,  if  plucked  or  broken,  died.  Karlov 
had  murdered  Stefani  Gregor,  perhaps  not  legally  but 
actually  nevertheless. 

Rehabilitated  in  soul,  Cutty  left  the  room.  He  had 
read  a  compelling  lesson  in  self-sacrifice.  He  was 
going  to  pick  up  his  cross  and  go  on  with  it,  smiling. 
After  all,  Kitty  was  only  an  interlude;  the  big  thing 
was  the  game;  and  shortly  he  would  be  in  the  thick 
of  great  events  again.  But  Kitty  should  be  happy. 

His  old  analytical  philosophy  resumed  its  func- 
tions. The  contempt  and  jealousy  of  one  race  for 
another;  what  was  God's  idea  in  implanting  that  in 
souls?  Hawksley  was  at  base  Russian.  The  boy's 
English  education,  his  adopted  outlook  upon  life, 
made  it  possible  for  Cutty  to  ignore  the  racial 
antagonism  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  for  all  other  races. 
Stefani  Gregor  at  one  end  of  the  world  and  he  at  the 
other,  blindly  working  out  the  destinies  of  Kitty 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  377 

Conover  and  Ivan  Mikhail  Feodorovich  and  so  forth 
and  so  on,  with  the  blood  of  Catharine  in  his  veins! 
Made  a  chap  dizzy  to  think  of  it.  Traditions  were 
piling  up  along  with  crowns  and  sceptres  in  the  abyss. 

When  he  returned  to  the  attic  he  felt  himself 
fortified  against  any  inevitability.  Hawksley  was 
sitting  up,  his  back  to  the  wall,  staring  groggily  but 
with  reckless  adoration  into  Kitty's  lovely  face. 
Youth  will  be  served.  As  if,  watching  these  two, 
there  could  be  any  doubt  of  it!  And  he  had  bent 
part  of  his  energies  toward  keeping  them  separated. 

"Ha!"  he  cried,  cheerfully.  "Back  on  top  again, 
I  see.  How's  the  head?" 

"Haven't  any;  no  legs;  I'm  nothing  at  all  but  a  bit 
of  my  own  imagination.  How  do  you  feel?" 

"Like  the  aftermath  of  an  Irish  wake."  Then 
Cutty's  battered  face  assumed  an  expression  that 
was  meant  to  typify  gravity.  "John,"  he  said, 
"I've  bad  news  for  you." 

John.  A  glow  went  over  the  young  man's  aching 
body.  John.  What  could  that  signify  except  that 
he  had  passed  into  the  eternal  friendship  of  this  old 
thoroughbred?  John. 

"  About  Stefani?" 

"Stefani  is  dead.  He  died  speaking  your  mother's 
name." 

Hawksley's  head  sank;  his  chin  touched  his  chest. 
He  spoke  without  looking  up.  "Something  told  me 
I  would  never  see  him  alive  again.  Old  Stefani!  If 


378  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

there  is  any  good  in  me  it  will  be  his  handiwork.  I 
say,"  he  added,  his  eyes  now  seeking  Cutty's,  "you 
called  me  John.  Will  you  carry  on?" 

"Keep  an  eye  on  you?  So  long  as  you  may  need 
me." 

"I  come  from  a  lawless  race.  Stefani  had  to 
fight.  Even  now  I'm  afraid  sometimes.  God  knows 
I  want  to  be  all  he  tried  to  make  me." 

"You're  all  right,  John.  You've  reached  haven; 
the  storms  hereafter  will  be  outside.  Besides, 
Stefani  will  always  be  with  you.  You'll  never  pick 
up  that  old  Amati  without  feeling  Stefani  near.  Can 
you  stand?" 

"Between  the  two  of  you,  perhaps." 

With  Kitty  on  one  side  and  Cutty  on  the  other 
Hawksley  managed  the  descent  tolerably  well.  Often 
a  foot  dragged.  How  strong  she  was,  this  girl !  No 
hysterics,  no  confusion,  after  all  that  racket,  with 
death — or  something  worse — reaching  out  toward 
her;  calmly  telling  him  that  there  was  another  step, 
warning  him  not  to  bear  too  heavily  on  Cutty! 
Holding  him  up  physically  and  morally,  these  two, 
now  all  he  had  in  life  to  care  for.  Yesterday,  un- 
known to  him;  this  night,  bound  by  hoops  of  steel. 
The  girl  had  forgiven  him;  he  knew  it  by  the  touch  of 
her  arm.  .  .  .  Old  Stefani !  A  sob  escaped  him. 
Their  arms  tightened. 

"No;  I  was  thinking  of  Stefani.  Rather  hard — to 
die  all  alone — because  he  loved  me." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  379 

Kitty  longed  to  be  alone.  There  were  still  many 
unshed  tears — some  for  Cutty,  some  for  Stefani 
Gregor,  some  for  Johnny  Two-Hawks,  and  some  for 
herself. 

In  the  limousine  Cutty  sat  in  the  middle,  Kitty  on 
his  left  and  Hawksley  on  his  right,  his  arms  round 
them  both.  Presently  Hawksley 's  head  touched  his 
shoulder  and  rested  there;  a  little  later  Kitty  did 
likewise.  His  children!  Lord,  he  was  going  to  have 
a  tremendous  interest  in  life,  after  all!  He  smiled 
with  kindly  irony  at  the  back  of  the  chauffeur.  His 
children,  these  two;  and  he  knew  as  he  planned  their 
future  that  they  were  thinking  over  and  round  but 
not  of  him,  which  is  the  way  of  youth. 

At  the  apartment  Cutty  decided  to  let  Hawksley 
sit  in  an  easy  chair  in  the  living  room  until  Captain 
Harrison  arrived.  Kuroki  was  ordered  to  prepare  a 
supper,  which  would  be  served  on  the  tea  cart,  set  at 
Hawksley's  knees.  Kitty — because  it  was  impos- 
sible for  her  to  remain  inactive — set  the  linen  and 
silver.  She  was  in  and  out  of  the  room,  ill  at  ease, 
angry,  frightened,  bitter,  avoiding  Hawksley's  im- 
ploring eyes  because  she  was  not  sure  of  her  own. 

She  was  sure  of  one  thing,  however.  All  the 
nonsense  was  out  of  her  head.  To-morrow  she  would 
be  returning  to  the  regular  job.  She  would  have  a 
page  from  the  Arabian  Nights  to  look  upon  in  the 
days  to  come.  She  understood,  though  it  twisted 
her  heart  dreadfully:  she  was  in  the  eyes  of  this  man 


380  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

a  plaything,  a  pretty  woman  he  had  met  in  passing. 
If  she  had  saved  his  life  he  had  in  turn  saved  hers; 
they  were  quits.  She  did  not  blame  him  for  his 
point  of  view.  He  had  come  from  the  top  of  the 
world,  where  women  were  either  ornaments  or  play- 
things, while  she  and  hers  had  always  struggled  to 
maintain  equilibrium  in  the  middle  stratum.  Cutty 
could  give  him  friendship;  but  she  could  not  because 
she  was  a  woman,  young  and  pretty. 

Love  him?  Well,  she  would  get  over  it.  It 
might  be  only  the  glamour  of  the  adventure  they  had 
shared.  Anyhow,  she  wouldn't  die  of  it.  Cutty 
hadn't.  Of  course  it  hurt;  she  was  a  silly  little  fool, 
and  all  that.  Once  he  was  in  Montana  he  would  be 
sending  for  his  Olga.  There  wasn't  the  least  doubt 
in  her  mind  that  if  ever  autocracy  returned  to  power, 
he'd  be  casting  aside  his  American  citizenship,  his 
chaps  and  sombrero,  for  the  old  regalia.  Well- 
truculently  to  the  world  at  large — why  not? 

So  she  avoided  Hawksley's  gaze,  sensing  the  sus- 
tained persistence  of  it.  But,  oh,  to  be  alone,  alone, 
alone! 

Cutty  washed  the  patient's  hands  and  face  and 
patched  up  the  cut  on  the  cheek,  interlarding  his 
chatter  with  trench  idioms,  banter,  jokes.  Under- 
neath, though,  he  was  chuckling.  He  was  the  hero 
of  this  tale;  he  had  done  all  the  thrilling  stunts, 
carried  limp  bodies  across  fire  escapes  in  the  rain, 
climbed  roofs,  eluded  newspaper  reporters,  fought 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  381 

with  his  bare  fists,  rescued  the  girl.  ...  All 
with  one  foot  in  the  grave !  Fifty-two,  gray  haired— 
with  a  prospect  of  rheumatism  on  the  morrow — and 
putting  it  over  like  a  debonair  movie  idol ! 

Hawksley  met  these  pleasantries  halfway  by  grous- 
ing about  being  babied  when  there  was  nothing  the 
matter  with  him  but  his  head,  his  body,  and  his  legs. 
.  .  .  Why  didn't  she  look  at  him?  What  was 
the  meaning  of  this  persistent  avoidance?  She  must 
have  forgiven  last  night.  She  was  too  much  of  a 
thoroughbred  to  harbour  ill  feeling  over  that.  Why 
didn't  she  look  at  him? 

The  telephone  called  Cutty  from  the  room. 
Kitty  went  into  the  dining  room  for  an  extra  pair  of 
salt  cellars  and  delayed  her  return  until  she  heard 
Cutty  coming  back. 

"Karlov  is  dead,"  he  announced.  "Started  a 
fight  in  the  taxi,  got  out,  and  was  making  for  safety 
when  one  of  the  boys  shot  him.  He  hadn't  the  jewels 
on  him,  John.  I'm  afraid  they  are  gone,  unless  he 
hid  them  somewhere  in  that What's  the  mat- 
ter, Kitty?" 

For  Kitty  had  dropped  the  salt  cellars  and  pressed 
her  hands  against  her  bosom,  her  face  colourless. 

Hawksley,  terrified,  tried  to  get  up. 

"No,  no!  Nothing  is  the  matter  with  me  but  my 
head.  ...  To  think  I  could  forget!  Good — 
heavens ! "  She  prolonged  the  words  drolly.  "  Wait." 

She  turned  her  back  to  them.    When  she  faced 


382  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

them  again  she  extended  a  palm  upon  which  lay  a 
leather  tobacco  pouch,  cracked  and  parched  and  blis- 
tered by  the  reactions  of  rain  and  sun. 

"  Think  of  my  forgetting  them !  I  found  them  this 
morning.  Where  do  you  suppose?  On  a  step  of  the 
fire-escape  ladder.'* 

"Well,  I'll  be  tinker-dammed!"  said  Cutty. 

"I've  reasoned  it  out,"  went  on  Kitty,  breath-/ 
lessly,  looking  at  Cutty,  "When  the  anarchist  tore 
them  from  Mr.  Hawksley's  neck,  he  threw  them  out 
of  the  window.  The  room  was  dark;  his  companion 
could  not  see.  Later  he  intended,  no  doubt,  to  go 
into  the  court  and  recover  them  and  cheat  his  master. 
I  was  looking  out  of  the  window,  when  I  noticed  a 
brilliant  flash  of  purple,  then  another  of  green. 
The  pouch  was  open,  the  stones  about  to  trickle  out. 
I  dared  not  leave  them  in  the  apartment  or  tell  any- 
body until  you  came  home.  So  I  carried  them  with 
me  to  the  office.  The  drums,  Cutty!  The  drums! 
Tumpitum-tump !  Look ! ' ' 

She  poured  the  stones  upon  the  white  linen  table- 
cloth. A  thousand  fires! 

"The  wonderful  things!"  she  gasped.  "Oh,  the 
wonderful  things!  I  don't  blame  you,  Cutty.  They 
would  tempt  an  angel.  The  drums  of  jeopardy; 
and  that  I  should  find  them!" 

"Lord!"  said  Cutty,  in  an  awed  whisper. 

Green  stones!  The  magnificent  rubies  and  sap- 
phires and  diamonds  vanished;  he  could  see  nothing 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  383 

but  the  exquisite  emeralds.  He  picked  up  one — still 
warm  with  Kitty's  pulsing  life — and  toyed  with  it. 
Actually,  the  drums!  And  all  this  time  they  had 
been  inviting  the  first  comer  to  appropriate  them. 
Money,  love,  tragedy,  death;  history,  pageants, 
lovely  women;  murder  and  loot!  All  these  days  on 
the  step  of  the  fire-escape  ladder!  He  must  have 
one  of  them;  positively  he  must.  Could  he  prevail 
upon  Hawksley  to  sell  one?  Had  he  carried  them 
through  sentiment? 

He  turned  to  broach  the  suggestion  of  purchase, 
but  remained  mute. 

Hawksley's  head  was  sunk  upon  his  chest;  his 
arms  hung  limply  at  the  sides  of  his  chair. 

"He  is  fainting!"  cried  Kitty,  her  love  outweighing 
her  resolves.  "Cutty!" — desperately,  fearing  to 
touch  Hawksley  herself. 

"No!  The  stones,  the  stones!  Take  them  away 
— out  of  sight!  Fm  too  done  in!  I  can't  stand  it! 
I  can't—  The  Red  Night!  Torches  and  hob- 
nailed boots!" 


CHAPTER  XXXHI 

HER  fingers  seemingly  all  thumbs,  her  heart 
swelling  with  misery  and  loneliness,  wanting 
to  go  to  him  but  fearing  she  would  be  misun- 
derstood, Kitty  scooped  up  the  dazzling  stones  and 
poured  them  hastily  into  the  tobacco  pouch,  which 
she  thrust  into  Cutty's  hands.  What  she  had  heard 
was  not  the  cry  of  a  disordered  brain.  There  was 
some  clear  reason  for  the  horror  in  Hawksley's 
tones.  What  tragedy  lay  behind  these  wonderful 
prisms  of  colour  that  the  legitimate  owner  could  not 
look  upon  them  without  being  stirred  in  this  manner? 

"Take  them  into  the  study,"  urged  Kitty. 

"Wait!"  interposed  Hawksley.  "I  give  one  of 
the  emeralds  to  you,  Cutty.  They  came  out  of  hell 
— if  you  want  to  risk  it!  The  other  is  for  Miss  Con- 
over,  with  Mister  Hawksley's  compliments."  He 
was  looking  at  Kitty  now,  his  face  drawn,  his  eyes 
bloodshot.  "Don't  be  apprehensive.  They  bring 
evil  only  to  men.  With  one  in  your  possession  you 
will  be  happy  ever  after,  as  the  saying  goes.  Oh, 
they  are  mine  to  give;  mine  by  right  of  inheritance. 
God  knows  I  paid  for  them!" 

"If  I  said  Mister "  began  Kitty,  her  brain 

confused,  her  tongue  clumsy. 

884 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  385 

"You  haven't  forgiven!"  he  interrupted.  "A 
thoroughbred  like  you,  to  hold  last  night  against  me! 
Mister — after  what  we  two  have  shared  together! 
Why  didn't  you  leave  me  there  to  die?" 

Cutty  observed  that  the  drama  had  resolved  itself 
into  two  characters;  he  had  been  relegated  to  the 
scenes.  He  tiptoed  toward  his  study  door,  and  as 
he  slipped  inside  he  knew  that  Gethsemane  was 
not  an  orchard  but  a  condition  of  the  mind.  He 
tossed  the  pouch  on  his  desk,  eyed  it  ironically,  and 
sat  down.  His,  one  of  them — one  of  those  marvel- 
lous emeralds  was  his!  He  interlaced  his  fingers 
and  rested  his  brow  upon  them.  He  was  very  tired. 

Kitty  missed  him  only  when  she  heard  the  latch 
snap. 

She  was  alone  with  Hawksley;  and  all  her  terror 
returned.  Not  to  touch  him,  not  to  console  him; 
to  stand  staring  at  him  like  a  dumb  thing! 

"I  do  forgive — Johnny!  But  your  world  and  my 
world " 

"Those  stains!    The  wretches  hurt  you!" 

"What?    Where?"— bewildered. 

"The  blood  on  your  waist!" 

Kitty  looked  down.  "That  is  not  my  blood, 
Johnny.  It  is  yours." 

"Mine?"  Johnny.  Something  in  the  way  she 
said  it.  "Mine?" — trying  to  solve  the  riddle. 

"Yes.  It  is  where  your  cheek  rested  when — I 
thought  you  were  dead." 


386  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

The  sense  of  misery,  of  oppression,  of  terror,  all 
fell  away  miraculously,  leaving  only  the  flower  of 
glory.  She  would  be  his  plaything  if  he  wanted 
her. 

Silence. 

"Kitty,  I  came  out  of  a  dark  world — to  find  you. 
I  loved  you  the  moment  I  entered  your  kitchen  that 
night.  But  I  did  not  know  it.  I  loved  you  the  night 
you  brought  the  wallet.  Still  I  did  not  understand. 
It  was  when  I  heard  the  lift  door  and  knew  you  had 
gone  forever  that  I  understood.  Loved  you  with  all 
my  heart,  with  all  that  poor  old  Stefani  had  fashioned 
out  of  muck  and  clay.  If  you  held  my  head  to  your 

heart,  if  that  is  my  blood  there Do  you,  can 

you  care  a  little?" 

"I  can  and  do  care  very  much,  Johnny." 

Her  voice  to  his  ears  was  like  the  G  string  of  the 
Amati.  "Will  you  go  with  me?" 

"Anywhere.  But  you  are  a  prince  of  some  great 
Russian  house,  Johnny,  and  I  am  nobody." 

"What  am  I,  Kitty?  Less  than  nobody — a  home- 
less outcast,  with  only  you  and  Cutty.  An  Ameri- 
can! Well,  when  I'm  that  it  will  be  different;  I'll 
be  somebody.  God  forgive  me  if  I  do  not  give  it 
absolute  loyalty,  this  new  country!  .  .  .  Never 
call  me  anything  but  Johnny." 

"Johnny."  Anywhere,  whatever  he  willed  her 
to  be. 

"I'm  a  child,  Kitty.    I  want  to  grow  up— if  I 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  387 

can — to  be  an  American,  something  like  that  ripping 
old  thoroughbred  yonder." 

Cutty!  Johnny  wanted  to  be  something  like 
Cutty.  Johnny  would  have  to  grow  up  to  be  his 
own  true  self;  for  nobody  could  ever  be  like  Cutty. 
He  wa"s  as  high  and  far  away  from  the  average  man 
as  this  apartment  was  from  hers.  Would  he  under- 
stand her  attitude?  Could  she  say  anything  until 
it  would  be  too  late  for  him  to  interfere?  She  was 
this  man's  woman.  She  would  have  her  span  of 
happiness,  come  ill,  come  good,  even  if  it  hurt  Cutty, 
whom  she  loved  in  another  fashion.  But  for  Johnny 
dropping  through  that  trap  she  might  never  have 
really  known,  married  Cutty,  and  been  happy. 
Happy  until  one  or  the  other  died;  never  gloriously, 
never  furiously,  but  mildly  happy;  perhaps  under- 
standing each  other  far  better  than  Johnny  and 
she  would  understand  each  other.  The  average 
woman's  lot.  But  to  give  her  heart,  her  mind,  her 
body  in  a  whirlwind  of  emotions,  absolute  surren- 
der, to  know  for  once  the  highest  state  of  exalta- 
tion— to  love! 

All  this  tender  exchange  with  half  a  dozen  feet 
between  them.  Kitty  had  not  stirred  from  the  far 
side  of  the  tea  cart,  and  he  had  not  opened  his  arms. 
She  had  given  herself  with  magnificent  abandon; 
for  the  present  that  satisfied  her  instincts.  As  for 
him,  he  was  not  quite  sure  this  miracle  might  not  be  a 
dream,  and  one  false  move  might  cause  her  to  vanish. 


388  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

"Johnny,  who  is  Olga?"  The  question  was  irre- 
pressible. Perhaps  it  was  the  last  shred  of  caution 
binding  her.  All  of  him  or  none  of  him.  There 
must  be  no  other  woman  intervening. 

Hawksley  stiffened  in  his  chair.  His  hands  closed 
convulsively  and  his  eyes  lost  their  brightness. 

"Johnny?"  Kitty  ran  round  the  tea  cart.  "What 
is  it?"  She  knelt  beside  the  chair,  alarmed,  for  the 
horror  had  returned  to  his  face.  "What  did  they 
do  to  you  back  there?'*  She  clasped  one  of  his 
hands  tensely  in  hers. 

"In  my  dreams  at  night!"  he  said,  staring  into 
space.  "I  could  run  away  from  my  pursuers,  but 
I  could  not  run  away  from  my  dreams!  Torches 
and  hobnailed  boots!  .  .  .  They  trampled  on 
her;  and  I,  up  there  in  the  gallery  with  those  damned 
emeralds  in  my  hands!  Ah,  if  I  hadn't  gone  for 
them,  if  I  hadn't  thought  of  the  extra  comforts  their 
sale  would  bring !  There  would  have  been  time  then, 
Kitty.  I  had  all  the  other  jewels  in  the  pouch. 
Horses  were  ready  for  us  to  flee  on,  loyal  servants 
ready  to  help  us;  but  I  thought  of  the  drums.  A 
few  more  worldly  comforts — with  hell  forcing  in  the 
doors ! 

"I  didn't  tell  her  where  I  was  going.  When  I 
came  back  it  was  to  see  her  die!  They  saw  me,  and 
yelled.  I  ran  away.  I  hadn't  the  courage  to  go 
down  there  and  die  with  her!  She  thought  I  was  in 
that  hell  pit.  She  went  down  there  to  die  with  me 


>% '  Stcfani  is  dead.     He  died  speaking  your 
mother's  name 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  389 

and  died  horribly,  alone!  Ah,  if  I  could  only  shut 
it  out,  forget !  Olga,  my  tender  young  sister,  Kitty, 
the  last  one  of  my  race  I  could  love.  And  I  ran  away 
like  a  yellow  dog,  like  a  yellow  dog!  I  don't  know 
where  her  grave  is,  and  I  could  not  seek  it  if  I  did! 
I  dared* not  write  Stefani;  tell  him  I  had  seen  Olga 
go  down  under  Karlov's  heels,  and  then  run  away! 
.  .  .  Day  by  day  to  feel  those  stones  against  my 
heart!" 

Nothing  is  more  terrible  to  a  woman  than  the 
sight  of  a  brave  man  weeping.  For  she  knew  that  he 
was  brave.  The  sudden  recollection  of  the  emer- 
alds; a  little  more  comfort  for  himself  and  sister  if 
they  were  permitted  to  escape.  Not  a  cowardly 
instinct,  not  even  a  greedy  one;  a  normal  desire  to 
fortify  them  additionally  against  an  unknown  future, 
and  he  had  surrendered  to  it  impulsively,  without 
explaining  to  Olga  where  he  was  going. 

"Johnny,  Johnny,  you  mustn't!"  She  sprang  up, 
seizing  his  head  and  wildly  kissing  him.  "You 
mustn't!  God  understands,  and  Olga.  Oh,  you 
mustn't  sob  like  that!  You  are  tearing  my  heart  to 
pieces!" 

"I  ran  away  like  a  yellow  dog!  I  didn't  go  down 
there  and  die  with  her!" 

"You  didn't  run  away  to-night  when  you  offered 
your  life  for  my  liberty.  Johnny,  you  mustn't!" 

Under  her  tender  ministrations  the  sobs  began  to 
die  away  and  soon  resolved  into  little  catching  gasps. 


390  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

He  was  weak  and  spent  from  his  injuries;  otherwise 
he  would  not  have  given  way  like  this,  discovered  to 
her  what  she  had  not  known  before,  that  in  every 
man,  however  strong  and  valiant  he  may  be,  there 
is  a  little  child. 

"It  has  been  burning  me  up,  Kitty." 

"I  know,  I  know!  It  is  because  you  have  a  soul 
full  of  beautiful  things,  Johnny.  God  held  you  back 
from  dying  with  Olga  because  He  knew  I  needed 
you." 

"You  will  marry  me,  knowing  that  I  did  this 
thing?" 

Marry  him!  A  door  to  some  blinding  radiance 
opened,  and  she  could  not  see  for  a  little  while. 
Marry  him!  What  a  miserable  wretch  she  was  to 
think  that  he  would  want  her  otherwise!  Johnny 
Two-Hawks,  fiddling  in  front  of  the  Metropolitan 
Opera  House,  to  fill  a  poor  blind  man's  cup ! 

"Yes,  Johnny.  Now,  yesterdays  never  were. 
For  us  there  is  nothing  but  to-morrows.  Out  there, 
in  the  great  country — where  souls  as  well  as  bodies 
may  stretch  themselves — we'll  start  all  over  again. 
You  will  be  the  cowman  and  I'll  be  the  kitchen 
wench.  As  in  the  beginning,  so  it  will  always  be 
hereafter,  I'll  cook  your  bacon  and  eggs." 

She  pulled  his  chair  round  and  pushed  it  toward  a 
window,  dropped  beside  it  and  laid  her  cheek  against 
his  hand. 

"Let  us  look  at  the  stars,  Johnny.     They  know." 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  391 

Kuroki,  having  arrived  with  coffee  and  sandwiches, 
paused  on  the  threshold,  gazed,  wheeled  right  about 
face,  and  returned  to  the  kitchen. 

By  and  by  Kitty  looked  up  into  Hawksley's  face. 
He  was  asleep.  She  got  up  carefully,  lightly  kissed 
the  top  of  his  head — the  old  wound — and  crossed 
to  Cutty's  door.  She  must  tell  dear  old  Cutty  of 
the  wonderful  happiness  that  was  going  to  be  hers. 
She  opened  the  study  door,  but  did  not  enter  at 
once.  Asleep  on  his  arms.  Why,  he  hadn't  even 
opened  that  Ali  Baba's  bag!  Tired  out — done  in, 
as  Johnny  Two-Hawks  called  it  in  his  English  fash- 
ion. She  waited;  but  as  he  did  not  stir  she  ap- 
proached with  noiseless  step.  The  light  poured  full 
upon  his  head.  How  gray  he  was!  A  boundless 
pity  surged  over  her  that  this  tender,  valiant  knight 
should  have  missed  what  first  her  mother  had  known, 
now  she  herself — requited  love.  To  have  everything 
in  the  world  without  that  was  to  have  nothing.  She 
would  not  wake  him;  she  would  let  him  sleep  until 
Captain  Harrison  came.  Lightly  she  touched  the 
gray  head  with  her  lips  and  stole  from  the  study. 

"Oh,  Molly,  Molly!"  Cutty  whispered  into  his 
rigid  fingers. 

And  so  they  were  married,  in  the  apartment,  at  the 
top  of  the  world,  on  a  May  night  thick  with  stars. 
It  was  not  a  wedding;  it  was  a  marriage.  The  world 
never  knew  because  it  was  none  of  the  world's  busi- 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

ness.  Who  was  Kitty  Conover?  A  nobody.  Who 
was  John  Hawksley?  Something  to  be. 

Out  of  the  storm  into  the  calm;  which  is  something 
of  a  reversal.  Generally  in  love  affairs  happiness  is 
found  in  the  approach  to  the  marriage  contract;  the 
disillusions  come  afterward.  It  was  therefore  logical 
that  Kitty  and  her  lover  should  be  happy,  as  they 
had  run  the  gamut  of  test  and  fire  beforehand. 

The  young  people  were  to  leave  for  the  West  soon 
after  the  supper  for  three.  At  midnight  Cutty's 
ship  would  be  boring  down  the  bay.  Did  Kitty 
regret,  even  a  little,  the  rice  and  old  shoes,  the 
bridesmaids  and  cake,  so  dear  to  the  female  of  the 
species?  She  did  not.  Did  she  think  occasionally 
of  the  splendour  of  the  title  that  was  hers?  She 
did.  To  her  mind  Mrs.  John  Hawksley  was  incom- 
parably above  and  beyond  anything  in  that  Bible  of 
autocracy — the  Almanach  de  Gotha. 

After  supper  Cutty  brought  in  the  old  Amati. 

"Play,"  he  said,  lighting  his  pipe. 

So  Hawksley  played — played  as  he  never  had 
played  before  and  perhaps  as  he  would  never  play 
again.  We  reach  zenith  sometimes,  but  we  never 
stay  there.  But  he  was  not  playing  to  Cutty.  Slate- 
blue  eyes,  two  books  with  endless  pages,  the  soul  of 
this  wife  of  his.  He  had  come  through.  The  mir- 
acle had  been  accomplished.  Love. 

Kitty  smiled  and  smiled,  the  doors  of  her  soul 
thrown  wide  to  absorb  this  magic  message.  Love. 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  393 

Cutty  smoked  on,  with  his  eyes  closed.  He 
heard  it,  too.  Love. 

"Well,"  he  said,  sighing,  "I  see  innovations  out 
there  in  Montana.  The  round-up  will  be  different. 
The  Pied  Fiddler  of  Bar-K  will  stand  in  the  corral 
and  fiddle,  and  the  bossies  will  come  galloping  in, 
two  by  two — and  a  few  jackrabbits!"  He  laughed. 
"John,  the  Amati  is  yours  conditionally.  If  after 
one  year  it  is  not  reclaimed  it  becomes  yours  auto- 
matically. My  wedding  present.  Remember,  next 
whiter,  if  God  wills,  you'll  come  and  visit  me." 

"As  if  we  could  forget!"  cried  Kitty,  embracing 
Cutty,  who  accepted  the  embrace  stoically.  "I'll 
be  needing  clothes,  and  Johnny  will  have  to  have  his 
hair  cut.  Oh,  Cutty,  I'm  so  foolishly  happy ! " 

"Time  we  started  for  the  choo-choo.  Time- 
tables have  no  souls.  But,  Lord,  what  a  racket  we've 
had!" 

"Well,  rather!"— from  Hawksley. 

"Bo,  listen  to  me.  Out  there  you  must  remember 
that  'bally'  and  'ripping'  and  'rather'  are  premedi- 
tated insults.  Gee- whiz!  but  I'd  like  a  look-see 
when  you  say  to  your  rough-and-readies:  'Bally 
rotten  weather.  What?'  They'll  shoot  you  up." 

More  banter;  which  fooled  none  of  the  three,  as 
each  understood  the  other  perfectly.  The  hour  of 
separation  was  at  hand,  and  they  were  fortifying  their 
courage. 

"Funny  old  top,"  was  Hawksley's  comment  as 


894  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

they  stood  before  the  train  gate.  "Three  months 
gone  we  were  strangers." 

"And  now "  began  Cutty. 

"With  hoops  of  steel!"  interrupted  Kitty.  "You 
must  write,  Cutty,  and  Johnny  and  I  will  be  prompt." 

"You'll  get  one  from  the  Azores." 

"Train  going  west!" 

"Good  luck,  children!"  Cutty  pressed  Hawks- 
ley's  hand  and  pecked  at  Kitty's  cheek.  "Shan't 
go  through  with  you  to  the  car.  Kuroki  is  waiting. 
Good-bye!" 

The  redcaps  seized  the  luggage,  and  Hawksley 
and  his  bride  followed  them  through  the  gate.  Be- 
cause he  was  tall  Cutty  could  see  them  until  they 
reached  the  bumper.  Funny  old  world,  for  a  fact. 
Next  time  they  met  the  wounds  would  be  healed — 
Hawksley's  head  and  old  Cutty's  heart.  Queer 
how  he  felt  his  fifty-two.  He  began  to  recognize 
one  of  the  truths  that  had  passed  by :  One  did  not  sense 
age  if  one  ran  with  the  familiar  pack.  But  for  an 
old-timer  to  jog  along  for  a  few  weeks  with  youth! 
That  was  it — the  youth  of  these  two  had  knocked  his 
conceit  into  a  cocked  hat. 

"Poor  dear  old  Cutty!"  said  Kitty. 

"Old  thoroughbred!"  said  Hawksley. 

And  there  you  were,  relegated  to  the  bracket 
where  the  family  kept  the  kaleidoscope,  the  sea-shell, 
and  the  album.  His  children,  though;  from  now  on 
be  would  have  that  interest  in  life.  The  blessed 


The  Drums  of  Jeopardy  395 

infant — Molly's  girl — taking  a  sunbonnet  when  she 
might  have  worn  a  tiara!  And  that  boy,  stepping 
down  from  the  pomp  of  palaces  to  the  dusty  ranges 
of  Bar-K.  An  American  citizen.  It  was  more  than 
funny,  this  old  top;  it  was  stark  raving  mad. 

Well,  "he  had  one  of  the  drums.  It  reposed  in  his 
wallet.  Another  queer  thing,  he  could  not  work 
up  a  bit  of  the  old  enthusiasm.  It  was  only  a  green 
stone.  One  of  the  finest  examples  of  the  emerald 
known,  and  he  could  not  conjure  up  the  panorama 
of  murder  and  loot  behind  it.  Possibly  because  he 
was  no  longer  detached;  the  stone  had  entered  his 
own  life  and  touched  it  with  tragedy.  For  it  was 
tragedy  to  be  fifty-two  and  to  realize  it.  Thus 
whenever  he  took  out  the  emerald  he  found  his  im- 
agination walled  in.  Besides,  it  was  a  kind  of  magic 
mirror;  he  saw  always  his  own  tentative  villainy. 
He  was  not  quite  the  honest  man  he  had  once  been. 

But  what  was  happening  down  the  line  there? 
The  passengers  were  making  way  for  someone. 
Kitty,  and  racing  back  to  the  gate!  She  did  not 
pause  until  she  stood  in  front  of  him,  breathless. 

"Forget  something?"  he  asked,  awkwardly. 

"Uh-hm!"  Suddenly  she  threw  her  arms  round 
his  neck  and  kissed  him.  "If  only  the  three  of  us 
could  be  always  together!  Take  care  of  yourself. 
Johnny  and  I  need  you."  Then  she  caught  his 
hand,  gave  it  a  pressure,  and  was  off  again. 

The  crowd  instantly  closed  in  behind  her.    Still 


396  The  Drums  of  Jeopardy 

Cutty  stood  there,  staring  blindly  in  her  direction. 
Old  Stefani  Gregor;  sacrifice.  By  and  by  he  became 
conscious  of  something  warm  and  hard  in  his  palm. 
He  looked  down. 

A  green  stone,  green  as  the  turban  of  a  Mecca 
pilgrim,  green  as  the  eye  of  a  black  panther  in  the 
thicket.  He  dropped  the  emerald  into  a  vest  pocket 
and  fumbled  round  for  his  pipe — always  his  mental 
crutch.  He  lit  it  and  marched  out  of  the  station  into 
the  night — chuckling  sardonically.  For  the  second 
time  the  thought  occurred  to  him:  Of  all  his  earthly 
possessions  he  would  carry  into  the  Beyond — a 
chuckle. 

Molly,  then  Kitty;  but  the  drums  of  jeopardy  were 
his! 

* 

THE  END 


University  of  California  Library 
v     Los  Angeles 

ik  if  I^JE/Qft4>e  'ast  date  stamped  below. 


RECEIVED 

SEP  ?.  2  1997 
SEL/EMS  LIBRARY 


A     000  126  826     7 

DOBRIN  CIRCULATING  LIBRARIES 


RETURN  WITHIN  Two  WEEKS 
RENEW  IF  NECESSARY 


